Good Morning Miami
by Erik's Princess
Summary: Brian has been caught and is being brought to Miami Metro, Dexter's perspective on all that follows. Done, but currently revising.
1. Good Morning Miami

**Good Morning Miami **

**By Erik's Princess. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. :( I wish I did but I don't so please don't sue me.**

**_P.s This is a revison to the chatper, I'm revising them all, making them flow better and what not, please tell me what you think of the finished article :) _**

**_And i hope you like Good Morning Miami 2.0_  
**

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_Good Morning Miami. Breaking new; Brian Moser, also known as the Ice Truck Killer has been arrested and is currently being taken in for questioning. He was captured only ten minutes ago, trying to escape the country via boat. He is currently en route to Miami Metro Police Station, where he is expected to arrive within the half hour. Brian Moser is believed to have..._

Brian.

The office is in ecstasy. Anyone who could get access to the department did. I would say it was a party atmosphere, but I think that is probably an inappropriate label for such a situation.

Me?

If I could feel and I mean really feel, I would be scared. But I can't, so I just sit in my lab, and wait. He let himself get caught. I know he did. He said we wouldn't be separated again, I remember at our last meeting; he didn't like my refusal to play. Of course, now that I think of it, it really must have been was quite insulting. Pushed aside by your brother for someone whom would never accept him if they knew the truth. But I couldn't kill Deb, can't, I need her safe; for my own selfish reasons maybe but I can't let die. The thought of killing Biney for her sake even crossed my mind, but I just can't indulge in the idea. We are blood brothers, intrinsically linked; our blood is the same, tainted by the same black oil which melds the dark passenger to us. My brother, the only person who could ever possibly understand the constant, relentless need, the rush of euphoria as the flesh rips and the blood spurts, as life slowly ebbs from tortured eyes...

Twenty minutes.

From my viewpoint under the level of shutters I see the homicide office, at full capacity now; like a distorted, disturbed street carnival which it yearns to join, standing I level my whirling head; the scent of the mêlée arousing my senses. Adrenalin begins to rage. Fighting with the noisy crowd, I reach the lieutenants' office where my sister has holed herself up apparently. I'm guessing she is still fairly traumatised from the whole ordeal, and meeting her ex-fiancée and almost-murderer isn't too high up on her list of things to do. I reach for the handle but the doors swings open before I can touch it. It's Sergeant Doakes.

Joy.

I'm not sure how he manages to restrain himself, but I get away with just a glare before he turns away and reenters the room. Not even a 'surprise motherfucker' shot my way. I'll just assume it's out of courtesy for my sister, then maybe this day can stay halfway sane.

If I was ever wondering where the ominous silence was my question would have been answered.

The room is silent, pin drop silent. The available seating being used by only three of the four, Doakes stands on guard like a bulldog over a bone, mutely observing the street carnival just beyond the bluish glass. My olive eyes travel the rest of the space, I see the fine leather of his shoes before I see his face, Captain Matthews' arms rest on the pine effect wood of La Guerta's desk as his thumbs bead his eyes; several large veins on his neck rise with the beat of his pulse. But what I find most strange is the occurrence on the sofa just to my right. Deb, on the seat, being comforted by La Guerta; of all people; she finally looks up at me, her face blotchy and eyes rimmed with red. I feel like I should try and bring up some sort of sad tale for her or tell her it's going to be alright, but I can't. My mind draws a blank. I've never been good for comforting people. So I sit by her side and just hold her hand. Her hand looks so small in mine, and I wonder what would Brian's feel like? Roughened and calloused? Or smooth and supple? He's held my hand before, It was awkward though, being bound by duck tape, I couldn't even feel them either, a resultant effect of the etorphine hydrochloride.

It surges in my veins like ice. He's here, in the building. I can feel it; it's a thrum, a heavy energy throbbing through my aching limbs. Dragging my body, I hug Deb distractedly and struggle to not run out the room. Pushing push past Doakes in the process, I hear a growl from behind me but I don't care, I escape. I push through multiple bodies swaying like a fleshy wave, fighting against the bloody current I keep going.

I need to see him.

I need to see my brother.

It's only been a week since I've last seen him; since I've even known he's existed, but the need is there now, the dull, aching throb growing harsher with his very proximity. The faceless bodies between my brother and I are my only, pitiful restraint.

Biney.

My heart pulses, tries to rip itself out of my chest, adrenaline slices my veins, and electricity taps my fingertips. He's in the elevator. Continuing to push, to pull, to get to the front of the flock of sheep I reach the helm when a warm, hard hand pulls my shoulder back.

"The fuck you going Morgan." Shit. Doakes.

"uhh...", because the only thing I can think of is 'I'm going to see Biney', and that wouldn't be a good thing to say.

For god sake Morgan, your sister is crying her fucking eyes in there and you run the fuck out? I know you're as fricken' retard but seriously? What's wrong with you?"

Now that's a question that I really don't want to answer.

"Don't tell me you're scared of the fucker?" A slight smirk curls his lips as he finds amusement in his taunt, Scared? Not quite.

The room goes ominously silent, Doakes loosens his vice like grip and I take the opportunity to twist away from him.

Sliding through the remaining sheep I see the reason, Brian's on the third floor now.

Four more. Thirty seconds.

The silence seems to grow more foreboding, deeper, darker. All of a sudden it seems to hit people that maybe it's not a great idea to have a face-to-face with a prolific serial killer.

Not a problem for me.

Ten seconds.

My palms are sweating; it feels as though my heart is in my mouth, my stomach is lurching. Is this a feeling? Anticipation?

Five seconds.

I'm nervous. Agitated. My blood's pumping, everything's racing, and he's just so close.

Three.

Two.

One.

All this situation needs is some smoke machines and Darth Vader sequence music to make it any tenser.

The elevator door slides open smoothly, the regular hitch in the runner non-existent to my eager eyes. Angel walks in first, His face is stone cold., The sheep behind me uses me as a barrier to peer over, their faces wide with horror or fascination.

Ready for the main attraction?

Surrounded by a multitude of nameless police officers, all male, is him.

My brother.

Flesh and blood.

A serene smile graces his face that is completely inappropriate for the given situation, but I don't care. He's here. I can feel our passengers blend and taste each other, getting acquainted. Realising he must have noticed me; I meet his eyes, rusted brown to swamp green, and he stops walking. I almost laugh as I understand the sudden gust of air behind me and the hushed breath.

He's behind the glass separating the department to the hall, so all I can see is a flurry of lips forming words. Angel grits his teeth but nods nonetheless, a beaming smile forms on Biney's face, his lips curl over his straight white teeth, they pace back towards the glass doors that separates us, the flock behind me moves back, leaving me to standout alone. Doakes is behind me, muttering about my freakiness again, but that isn't important. Not anymore. It's just me and Brian now. I'm ready. The glass doors slide open silently, Brian's in front now, flanked by the officers just as I'm flanked by the rest of the police department. It's like a twisted parody of boxer's baiting, but neither of us will lose. My darkness intertwines with his, a perfect harmony of bone saws and cleavers. I find my feet moving, step by step. The distance between us is minimal now; two meters at the most, the magnetic hum of our blood pulling us closer together. We stop at two feet. The sheep surround the wolves, how deliciously ironic, and they wait with baited breath. Even the good sergeant is quiet. An answer perhaps? The room is so silent that a pin could drop and the echo would be heard.

Our faces blank, unmasked, people must see resemblance. There's a smirk plastered on his face as Brian opens his mouth.

"Hello, little brother."

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**Hello, I'm not a big story writer so I'm sorry if this does'nt flow or whatever. Just comment anything, good, bad, to be improved. etc.**

**I can't wait for the 5th season, so to tide me over i thought I'd try to write this. I know its a sort of AU from Season 1 episode 12 but i just love Brian. i think the 5th Dexter book probably kindled that flame again. XD**

**I hope you like it.**

**Please R&R**

**P.S. I may continue this. Depends on response.**

_**p.s again... Can't wait for season 6! Ahh!**_


	2. Fiesta

**Good morning Miami chapter 2**

**Thanks all of you for all the amazing reviews! I love you all.**

**So I'm gonna continue this.**

**I'll work my ass off to get this out but, I'm starting college so I'll have quite a lot of work to do. **

**Anyway, enjoy,**

_**P.s Revision done. :) hope you like it. :) please tell me what you think. :)**_

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Silence.

Usually I crave it, the hum of a heartbeat extinguishing, the last breath sputtering from a tortured mouth. But now, I can't stand it. For what seems like an hour it spreads, the sound of nothing permeating the air until I hear the faint distance clash of porcelain against cheap carpet and it's like the world has begun to revolve again. A flurry of sound and movement begins; gossip surrounds me like a blanket, smothering me.

I look to find angel's eyes; they're wide and glassy with shock, he shakes his head, out of what I don't know, and starts pulling Brian away.

Part of me is screaming not to lose him again, but I can't scream. I have to be shocked; I have to deny I knew anything. They're almost out the doors now; my own hollow eyes follow almost...longingly. My hand reaches up; stretched towards him, my palm faces my stomach as my fingers curl loosely around an invisible arm, trying desperately wishing for another touch of his flesh so like mine. A violent whine threatens to lurch from my dry mouth as he fades from my vision, Brian turns his head and again ours eyes meet, but this time not one is interested in him.

It's me.

Dexter Morgan. Or should I say Dexter Moser now?

It feels as if the world is collapsing around me, a bomb shattering my perfect picture of a life, my mask cracking and exposing the real me to the light, every facet of my charmingly fake facade smashed, and lying in chards by my feet.

I've yet to turn, I feel hesitation.

Six syllables,

Three words,

And my life is upside down. If I turn, it'll solidify like glass, fragile, brittle, and sharp. A Decidedly Desolate Dexter Doll, empty and plastic.

Exposed.

I turn.

The Carnival has lost some of the jazz but none of the jive, office gossips staring until I look then they quickly divert their eyes. I span the room, looking. For something, anything, but all I see is stolid visage, like no one heard, but I know they did. It was rather hard to miss, the room was completely silent.

I put my mask on, act the part of distressed and unknowing naive man, but the air has changed. I need to get to my office, need to hide, recover, regenerate, a perverse Dr. Who shaping his new face. I force my features to show confusion, bewilderment, it works for the most part, I get a few meaningful looks, even a hug, but I'm exhausted, I let the last few chards of my mask down and step into the solace of my office.

I collapse into my chair, the momentum of my body nudging the chair along a few inches, resting my elbows on the desk I pull my hair and begin to panic; the delicious feeling of my reveal has begun to ebb and is slowly replacing with dread, what was he thinking? I'm fucked. Are they going to even let me work here anymore? Shit. Pushing the balls of my palm into my eyes I take a deep breath. This isn't so bad is it? Sure I'm related to a serial killer but I'll get more allowances now… poor Dexter; let him go early, he's still suffering poor love…

"So, is your big secret out, Moser?"

I should feel angry; I should rage and slice his jugular spilling his warm thick blood over the walls, but 'Moser'. That one word disarms me crushes the leathery wings of my passenger like tissue. My stomach begins to sink, and a genuine smile graces my face. I glance at Doakes, watch his face and see the exact moment he knows. His face drops, of course he picks it right back up but I know I could see it, the realization I'm an expert in human emotion, I fake them every day after all.

"You motherfucking cocksucker, you knew, you fucking knew!" He begins to rage, to froth slightly at the mouth, his eyes alight with fire, they widen even more.

"Fuck Morgan. Moser, whatever you are. That's why you ran isn't it? You left your fucking sister alone just to see your fucking psychopathic brother?"

Shit. Deb. I forgot about her, well… not really but she hasn't really been important lately. Our relationship has been slightly strained since she woke up to me standing over her, I saved her life but I stood over her for too long I think.

"Well as lovely as our conversation has been, I gotta go." I run out the door not even bothering to sling it shut before I'm gone, I'll deal with Doakes later.

Here the carnival has simmered to a fiesta, the festering whispers breeding like maggots on a corpse, I hear the occasional 'oh, Mandy, the just look so alike, I can't believe we never saw it before' or the rather disconcerting 'well everyone knows that Dexter was strange, runs in the family you know' - you don't know how right you are lady – but rumours can't be worse than the truth so I continue to pace to LaGuerta's office. I reach for the handle, they don't know all oblivious, I release the door as it swings open and move into the silent space. Three pairs of eyes dart my way, staring with expectation. I look to the Good Captain first; it doesn't take it long till he twigs. 31 years down the drain, sorry about that.

"Fuck."

The word spews from his frenzied mouth like an arterial spurt, his face crimson with flushed capillaries. Both La Guerta and Deb jump, I would have too if I hadn't know it was coming. Matthews turns his head, his long calloused fingers kneading the bridge of his nose, takes one heavy breath and with his other hand, points to La Guerta. Beckoning her he leaves the office, LaGuerta shoots me a confused look, I don't react so she hugs Deb and follows him. Then I see her. Deb's astonishingly pale now, just like when Brian had her strapped down with saran wrap and ready for a slice and dice Dexter special.

The air in the room seems so thick, stifled with uncertainty, but I need to tell her, she'll find out anyway. I twist my head away from her to the window, Matthews is speaking to LaGuerta, I wonder what they are speaking about? Oh yeah, me. I can almost feel her gasp, her eyes comically wide, perfectly shaped eyebrows wanting to touch he hair line only to be scarpered by her Botox frozen forehead. I divert my head; I feel Deb eyes burn into my sweated cold shirt so I meet her eyes, her normal angry deviance swallowed but still there.

"What the fuck is going on Dexter?" Ahh, even when her life is falling apart around her, she still has the same delightful mouth. Yet strangely... she seems so desperate saying it.

Does she even need to know? Everyone is going to think I told her and think it'll be a sore subject so won't mention anything, right?

"Tell me Goddamn it Dex!" she's crying now, tears streaming in rivers down her bloated face

Okay, go easy, be tactful.

"Brian's my brother."

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**Please review. :)** ...


	3. Crunch

**Good Morning Miami chapter 3**

**Hi, sorry for the wait.**

**Thx to Curious Atheist for beta-ing**

**Disclamer: I don't own anything apart from the plot. :(**

**Now without further ado.**

**...**

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The truth.

It's a strange thing, I work better with lies. They're usually only little ones, like where I am late at night, but it can get to the 'No, I didn't know one of the most prolific serial killers in all of Miami history was my brother' level.

Ah yes, that one. Well, you see, I really wanted that one to stay secret. Apart from the fact it makes my moonlighting hobby rather difficult, it also means I have to find a way to explain this to Deb.

Deb. Foul-mouthed, Desperately Destroyed Debra.

To be honest, I feel a little lost. Darling Desolate Dex stranded in the Atlantic, smack dab in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.

Why do I always end up in these messes?

Precious oxygen seems to suck out the room as the silence breeds, like earlier, but this time it's more intimate. I feel it, tendrils of ice whipping at the back of neck sending shivers down my spine. Then it stops, almost as soon as it has begun, mocking me with a husk of a laugh echoing in hollow repose. I look to Deb, her body upon the sofa as if she were a broken rag doll, lying awkwardly, yet perfectly, still. She must be uncomfortable, but I imagine that is the least of her worries right now.

She looks up to meet my eyes, the first time since my 'shocking' confession. I rather expect to see her eyes like a doll's, glassy with shock, but much to my surprise they're full of anger. Pure, white-hot defiance. Surely she should be crying? Maybe yelling I guess but isn't that what people do when they're hurt? Not just stare with utter hate? Maybe I'm getting off my game. I'm pulled back to the present when I hear Deb growl, a deep guttural growl, that seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere, and resonates deep within my bones

"What did you say?" it's so quiet, I can barely hear it, but somehow it gets my Dark Passenger chuckling, the rumbling awake in my chest, filling my blood and easing forth into my consciousness, the sudden rush of excitement flowing to my fingertips

"Brian's my brother"

It still fills me with glee. I feel almost giddy saying it and want to keep saying it on repeat, over and over again, until I can't speak any more, can't even breathe any more, but somehow I don't think it would be appropriate. Ha, the irony. Me, giddy.

"Did you know?" She's trying to restrain herself at least, of course it could be poor Dexter may have just found out too.

I must be hesitating because she asks again, apprehension at last seeping into her voice. Should I lie? Chalk up my stolid visage to shock?

She asks again. Her voice quickens, she's panicking. Dexter can't have known? Could he?

"No"

The word hangs between us like a man on the gallows, the silence is awkward to say the least, and its coagulating fast. Okay. That's not going to work then. I sigh, somehow ashamed that neither of us believes it.

"Yes"

She begins to stand, rising slowly, inch by inch, until she is a foot away staring into my eyes, I seem to shrink in comparison and I hear the Dark Passenger's cool, cruel chuckle echoing in my chest. How is it that I've coldly and efficiently slaughtered over forty serial killers and rapists, chopped them up and throw them to sea, but my sister still intimidates me? Is it a sibling abuse thing? I mean, her arm punches really hurt.

"How fucking long have you known Dexter?" Okay, now she defiantly angry.

I gulp, "Since I came to the house."

Her expression doesn't change, but I see a twinge of realization settle in her eye. Damn, I hoped she wouldn't remember that.

"So you knew? You fucking knew when he had me strapped down to the fucking table, unconscious? You fucking knew when I asked you why he came for me? Jesus Dex."

During her delightful monologue her voice crescendo'd like the climax of a song, violent and harsh, and poor little Dexter felt utterly whipped.

I open my mouth to try and justify an answer, yet all that seems to fall from my lips is a feeble, "Yes".

What's wrong with me? Where is Dashing Daring Dexter, whose charming smile could melt the coldest of hearts? The Dark Passenger is obliviously not impressed as it rather forcefully tries to wrench my hands from the steering wheel and shunt me to the back seat. I barely keep my grip.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me, goddamn it?", her voice rising in pitch as well as volume.

"You didn't need to know," I reply, cause wouldn't that be a great thing to bring up in conversation, 'Oh hey Deb, you know your fiancée who tried to kill you? Well, funny story, he's my brother.'

"The fuck I didn't Dexter! What the holy fucking mother of shit were you thinking?"

"Umm." The uber eloquence of Dashing Dexter prevails again I see.

"Oh my God, that's all you can say? 'Umm'? What fucking good is that?"

I feel a tad vulnerable, my usual slippery, silver tongue somehow dull, and dry and my quick, agile mind lethargic. I can find nothing to say that doesn't make me sound worse, and it seems an understatement to say that she's pissed. My world is collapsing around me, turned upside down and spun around and I'm left standing in the middle.

Shit.

Deb's still staring, her face showing strong emotion. Disappointment? She breathes in and rubs the bridge of her nose. I never did understand why people do that, and I don't suppose I ever will.

"Go, Dexter. Go home or somewhere else, even to fucking whore, I don't care. Just … Just turn up tomorrow, and it'll be like nothing's happened. Okay?"

It's amazing how as much as we, as a country that prides itself on free speech, I hardly get any. Deb stalks out the room leaving any objection from me still forming in my mouth.

That went well, better that I thought it would anyway, and no blood has been spilled. Yet, somehow, I feel exhilarated, the adrenaline slicing through my veins, violent and glorious. Only a little bit of my past and present open for all to see, and I love it.

I go home; I have my orders. Besides, tomorrow is a new day. A brand new day.

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**Again. I'll try and get the next out as quickly as possible.**


	4. Bright

**Hey, I'm so sorry for the wait, I've had a lot of school work, I hope you enjoy it.**

**Once again. : Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

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Ahh, six O'clock, such a wonderful time of glorious calm. The sea breeze wafting through my window, spreading its wings and gliding towards my bed, the last tendrils of darkness slipping away into the shadows to reveal a bright new morn.

My lizard mind is slow, cold and unresponsive, yet I feel a certain-happiness?

Mmm, what did Dexter do yesterday?

Bring in doughnuts, mmm… cream filling.

File.

Blood splatter report on bludgeoning.

File.

Ate lunch.

File.

Saw Brian.

Fil…

Brian.

I hear a dark, sibilant chuckle ringing in my ears that seems to darken the blooming day and it all flies back. The carnival, the flurry of sound and movement, the silence, that sort of awkward silence that seems to sprout from occasions like that. My body decides it doesn't want to support its weight, so I fall back onto my bed. What am I going to do? As fun as it was yesterday, this is a really big problem. Not quite up there with knowledge of my hobby but yes, very close. Okay, Deb knows. That's not so bad. She is mentally scarred, sure, but she also thinks I didn't know that I had a sociopathic serial killer as a brother.

Doakes on the other hand...

Am I really that obvious? No I can't be, LaGuerta doesn't think anything is wrong with me. Other end of the scale actually. Deb has no clue and I like to feel I know Deb quite well. Until recently she was my only family. I guess a big family reunion's out the question though, the last one ended with Deb strapped to a table Dexter style, poor Dexter's rather primitive emotional system overwhelmed, and Biney disappointed by Dexter's lack of happy slappy slashy-ness.

I glance to my alarm clock and groan. It's 6:30 already; I really shouldn't talk to myself so much, a sign of mental illness apparently. Right: shower, shave, breakfast, clothing, shoes, and out the door. I can manage that without speaking to myself, right? And I do. It's 7:15 by the time I leave, but with illegal driving, I should be there by 8:00. I lock my door, the cheap Wal-Mart Barbie head 'thunking' against the door. I probably should get rid of it now, the games over. Besides, I imagine my co-workers won't need any more ammo towards me should anything untoward happen now.

I mean a brother to a serial killer with a rather neat fetish for amputees carrying around a dismembered Barbie head? As a wolf hiding among sheep, that's some pretty big teeth.

I feel a trickling down my neck shooting ice down my nerves, I turn and my passenger makes a grab for control. I pin point the point of aggravation and know why. Parked across the street is a maroon Ford Taurus. A rather common car. That's why the police use it for undercover work. I can't see who's in the driver's seat, but I have an absolutely hilarious idea that the occupant is African-American, about forty, and hates me.

Doakes.

I swear he's going to be the death of me. Well, actually it's probably going to be the other way round. Shame Harry's code won't let me kill him straight off the bat though. I decide I better go see what he wants; hopefully it's just to remind me to bring doughnuts. I'm doubtful though.

"Hello sergeant. Beautiful morning, don't you think?" good old' cheerful Dexter Morgan.

He just glares for a minute. So far so good. Nothing out of the ordinary there then, I'm just about to turn when he calls out.

"I'm watching you, Moser."

My grin drops almost immediately. Doakes is getting to be a big problem.

"I'm legally a Morgan, sergeant, and have been since I was three." Although I do like the ring Moser has. Dexter Moser…

"Yeah, sure Moser. You're still on doughnut duty, don't be late mother fucker." he drives off at speed, cutting off any possible witty remark I could shoot in return.

Well, it's nice to know I'm still on doughnut duty and a mother fucker. I guess some things never change. He is right about something though, I'm going to be late. First thing, off to Benny's Bakery, best in the county, for doughnuts, then off to work.

I arrive at the station at 8:05, not bad if I say so myself. I only encountered one road accident, non-fatal, so it was a pretty calm drive over here. I go to get out of the car but my hand sticks to the handle. As there is no adhesive, it must be me gripping the handle in a death-like vice. My stomach starts to revolve, and I'm struck by a revelation. Am I nervous? For all accounts nothing may have changed, I already know Doakes still hates me, but what if people other than Doakes start to watch me, have me followed? Saying that would not be good would be an understatement as large as the emotional void within me. I'm now glad that most of the cops don't start coming in till 8:30. Technically all start at 8:00 but what's a mere half hour?

I manage to de-vice my hand and end up speed walking to the building, doughnuts in one hand, blood kit in the other, and a bag on my right shoulder. I must look like an idiot but I really don't care about that at this point in time. I see the main receptionist at her desk. She meets my eyes, and hers widen and dart down. Great the news of Dexter's family issues have spread throughout the building. I get on the elevator and a man following me on. I smile at him, always a nice thing to do, and he starts to smile back. I guess he recognises me though, as his blossoming smile suddenly withers and dies. He pushes the button for two and moves to the far right of the space.

If I had emotions I think I'd be really upset because I recognise him as Officer Acosta who works in narcotics, fifth floor. Okay, so operation' nothing has happened' isn't going too well. At least my elevator ride remained empty for the rest of the way up. I reach homicide, my gut still performing cirque de soleil, and I put the doughnuts on the table when I realise barely anyone is here. Doakes, of course, Vince and a couple of admin staff. As charming as I am I don't think chatting up some of the admin would be a good idea right now, so I head over to Vince, bringing a doughnut as a peace offering. By the rate I'm going today though I may need to buy Benny's to supply enough peace offerings for all the staff.

"Hey Vince, what's up? I come in peace." I finish with a little laugh to make it seem like everything's normal.

He looks up, sees me, grabs the doughnut and continues typing. If I'm honest I feel a little dumbfounded. After the reaction from the receptionist and Acosta, I had kind of expected Vince to jump out of his chair and hide in the corner. I must have stood there for in excess of a minute gaping, as I heard a voice jump me out of my muse.

"I'm guessing no one's told you?" It was Vince; he had swivelled to face me, a bit of cream still on his lip from the doughnut he had just devoured.

"You have a bit of cream on your lip and no, told me what?" He licked his lips, ridding himself of the cream, and took a deep breath.

"Well yesterday since we all found out … you know" he's obviously struggling to not offend me.

"Brian's my brother?" I don't think it could be anything else.

"Yeah, that. Well we, as a department decided we would try not to mention it, for everyone's sake." He means Deb, finding out that your ex-fiancée/ serial killer is also your brother's brother within 24 hours must difficult to handle.

A warm feeling forms in my chest, I didn't know the department cared so much. Okay, so it's probably for Deb more than for me but that's all details.

"Oh, okay, thanks Vince." He nods and turns back to the screen. I don't dare look at it. Even I can be disturbed by his sexual fetishes. Hmm, maybe he's into acrotomophilia. Even though I'm touched by the department's decision for discreetness, I have the feeling it's still going to be awkward for a while. I slink back to my office. I really do love my office. It has such privacy, no uncomfortable questions as to why a lab geek is looking at criminal records and hacking into private files. I look at my watch, 8:30, and just on time about 12 cop's come walking in coffee in one hand, the other empty ready to grab a doughnut on the way to their desks. Deb still isn't around but I don't blame her. Traumatic events don't do good things to people. Just look at the Moser family, a three day blood bath caused significant mental damage to two young boys causing them to grow up into serial killers.

It's early morning briefing time and as my sister isn't here to drag me to it, I don't intend on going. But just as I open my briefcase to begin work on a multiple homicide, an amateur and rather messy one I must admit, LaGuerta pops her perfectly coifed head in to my dark office.

"Umm, Dexter? We need you in the briefing room." She tries to look sympathetic but imagine that moving facial muscles once they have been chemically frozen must be quite difficult.

"Okay lieutenant." Cheerful with a hint of worry, perfect.

She opens the door wider and begins to strut away; maybe strutting is a heel thing as I end up strolling to follow her. She opens the heavy wooden door to the briefing room and all the muted muttering from the occupants stops as if I had cut their voice boxes. I settle into a seat in the awkwardly silent room and look around. Captain Matthews is here which means it's going to be about me. God, it's just about 8:40 and I already have the urge to kill somebody. This day isn't going to well.

The captain clears his throat loudly and begins the 'Me' briefing.

"As we all know, the Ice Truck Killer, Brian Moser" several quick eyes dart towards me "was captured yesterday. And while being brought in gave us some shocking revelations." Yep, serial killer sibling over here, "I just want to make it clear that a no tolerance policy has been put in place to protect those affected. Thank you, lieutenant you may continue."

That's the amazing thing about politics, it get the message to the target audience, while the rest are left scratching their heads. LaGuerta steps up to the podium clicking her heels in a lovely tune, she's just about to open her mouth when the wooden doors emitted a highly pitched squeak, echoed by the fact the room of groupers was still silent. A young man of about 20 comes rushing in, his wild black hair flopping in his face. He makes his way over to the rather dumbstruck looking LaGuerta. A rush of lips between them and a quick glance to me and the boy runs out. A pulse of excitement seems to ripple throughout the room, a buzz beginning as another installment of Dear Dexter's Drama commences.

"They want you at the interrogation."

And although it wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, I have the feeling that the general consensus is that it was meant for me.

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	5. Contrast

**Heya sorry for the wait again. I have half term week after next so i'll try and get some writing done.**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot. Nothing else**

******_Hey so this is a revision of the chapter, corrected my awful grammar, mostly, and added in some more information really. Hope you like._**

* * *

It's an odd feeling, being brought down a long, dark corridor flanked by two really, really big prison guards, you would think I was the killer by the looks they were giving me.

I seem to be enduring an immense amount of silence today, usually people try to make conversation, break up the awkwardness, but they haven't been lately and I never do. The corridor seems to continue on for miles, the void of the hall deficient in essential oxygen leaving me gasping for breath. My chest constricts with what I now know is anticipation; It's been a less than 24 hours since I've seen him but I'm pining for Biney, is that needy? I mean we do have 36 years of life to catch up on but I'm literally shaking as the guards stop and take a pace back; it's just me and the door. I reach for the handle, my cold clammy hand grasping it like my life depends on it and twist down.

My heart sinks, all I can see is a grey room and monitors. The door behind me slams and I jump; my inner icy friend takes to opportunity to laugh at my expense. I begin head towards the monitors when the door on the far side squeals open. A man about 65, tall and skinny walks through, his eyes try to meet mine but the thick glass in front of them skews his vision.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Brown" he says quite jovially, as if he doesn't know what's going on. He gives me his hand to shake; I do so. As our skin touches, I get the most awful feeling. I know this man, Shit, he was my therapist as a child.

Smile Dexter, think of fluffy bunnies Dexter.

"Hi, I'm Dexter Morgan." Please say he doesn't recognise me, please have gone senile.

"Dexter… Dexter, hmm, I know that name." Crap. Why didn't Harry change my name to something less memorable?

"Ohh. Ohh. Dexter Morgan. I remember you now" Fuck. "I saw you as a child I think, yes I think if did, memory of an elephant this one." Why do you hate me God? I only kill bad people.

It's only 9:00; I've been up for exactly three hours and I already want to cry in frustration.

"Well it has been nice chatting" we've been chatting? "But I feel we must get on."

"Okay?" well what else can I say?

With a speed I had not thought possible, the man suddenly spins on heel and charges forth, leaving me in the microscopic dust. Determined and a little confused I follow. A fantastic choice as a blade of ice stabs down my spine,

Biney.

He must have felt it to as he looked my direction; I'm assuming that he would have met my eyes if only the two inch mirrored plexy glass wasn't in the way. He looks tired and tender-cops don't tale it well if you try to kill one of their own I guess- and even though that one of their own was my sister, I still feel indignant and sulky that someone would treat Biney that way.

The good Doctor must have picked up on something, the anger I guess, as he gently pat my arm,

"It's okay to be angry, but try to control it; I know you have issues controlling your anger Dex."

Oh really, that's why I was sent to you as a child?

Through the plexy glass, two cops walk in. Faceless, I don't know them, that's probably good thing actually. Brian's swampy green eyes are still gazing in my direction when a heavy black hand slams the metal table. He doesn't seem react, only a glance in the man's direction.

"Very interesting, very interesting; from what I can gather Brian seems to have a peculiar attachment to you, particularly odd in someone of his state of mind." The good doctor comments over the territorial pissing in the interrogation room.

I nod, it seems appropriate.

The big black guy starts speaking, his voice low and… reassuring?

"You're a doctor right?"

Just a normal interrogation, why do they want me here.

"Yes." Evidently Brian's bored, I can't blame him really.

"Why did you get into prosthetics?"

"Aww, don't you know my history? Mother dearest was chippy chopped into tiny little bite size pieces."

The detectives are silent, I am too.

"Why would that affect you?" they seriously didn't look into his history? It wasn't that hard to find. I did.

"You see," A wiry smile spreads slowly upon my brother's face, one I recognise, we share it.

"I was there"

"I remember it, I was only six mind, but I can still see her blood spurt from her dismembered body, her bloodless flesh marbling with the heat, a shipping container isn't a refrigerator, let me tell you that. But you know, I don't think that's what fucked me up."

The detectives look quite pale, sweat dripping down their deep grey suits as they hold their composure. The Latino, the one who had been quiet till now, spoke up.

"So what did fuck you up then?" Brian's enjoying this, he likes the control.

"Sitting in the fermenting blood of four people for three days, you know I don't think I would have made it through without my brother"

The detectives look confused.

"What does he have to do with anything?"

No Brian, please don't, alas he smirks

"Oh, you don't get it do you? He was there with me."

Shit, Shit, Shit.

Why Brian? Do you want me to kill myself? I know you're pissed but do you have to ruin my life too?

Even the Dr. behind me gasps.

I really want to curl up in a ball right now.

"Oh, Dexter, I had no idea."

"..."

I suddenly feel a slight crushing of my chest. Great a hug, look I've had a hard morning, how about I kill you instead? But I can't do that so I hug him back somewhat bewildered to his reasoning for bodily contact. Am I not supposed to be the one in hysterics right now?

"I'm so sorry you had to find out this way." Huh? Oh.

"Mmh." Ahh… the ever eloquent Dexter, It seems during my delightful interlude with the good doctor I missed something rather important as when I look towards the grey wall of the interrogation room all I see is my brother garbed in an atrocious day-glow orange shade. He's twiddling his thumbs, which seems strangely familiar; the heavy wooden door on the far side of the room swings open and the two detectives walk in, the black one still looking rather meek for his frame and the Latino damp with more than just the Miami heat. The Latino cop coughs and begins to speak.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan but unfortunately Mr. Moser is not cooperating as we had hoped." No shit

"We had hoped your presence would act as leverage to get Moser to speak but regrettably this pathway didn't work out as we had planned." You really don't have much of a grasp on psychopaths do you?

"If it is acceptable to you we would like you in the interview, Moser has been requesting your presence and frankly we need him to give us something."

Err…

Not that I don't want to see Brian, oh god yes I do but it'll be watched. La Guerta, Angel … Doakes.

A rare and special sight, the meeting of sibling serial sociopaths caught live on camera.

Extraordinary.

But not really wanted, Brian will get Incriminate me somehow, probably not on purpose but heat of the moment dicing discussions seem to be our speciality.

Nonetheless, when I come around from my inner monologue my arse is being led out of this lovely dark room and into a luminescent corridor. The detectives are quiet, I think they sense something's wrong. Oh well. They stop in front of a door, treat it as if it's made of brimstone, really? Haven't they dealt with worse criminals than my brother, I mean he was only trying to awaken the locked carbon steel door of my bloodied memories, it worked, and it was only a few hookers.

Is Biney saying something about our mother?

I don't really have time to contemplate as the two detectives have opened the door and are beckoning me in, I avoid Biney's gaze but I can still feel it burning through my skull, charring what's left of my poor tattered brain. I sit and lift my eyes to his, swamp to rust-rust to swamp we stare. Echoes of energy vibrate around the room as we sit in silence.

A poignant moment and for an instant, it's just us, no cameras, no police, no interrogation room. Just us.

"I remember you know. Room 103; about the same size as the shipping container isn't it? I remember the screams." I can't stop myself, words fumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, I want to grasp his hand and hold as tight as I can but I can't, not in here, the freak show of us both amplified by the shadows of this room juxtaposed to the searing strobe lights above us.

The cops stand behind me, letting me talk to him, developing trust or some crap like that probably.

"That's what I wanted Dexter, 36 years I just wanted to see you again, the institution was brutal. Then again, you wouldn't know, you got adopted; had a family and that fucking fake sister!" Rage seeps into his tone towards the end, but his mask fluidly covers the damage.

We turn quiet again, me contemplating. Without Harry, would I be like him? Would I prow the night, be a serial kill with no bounds?

I need to know though, why. Why did harry pick me and not Biney? Why now?

"Why hookers?"

And just like that the moments gone, I'm suddenly hyper aware I've just asked a psychopath who happens to be my brother, why hookers were used to emulate our late dear old mother, instead of 'Why?' or 'How could you?' or some other indignant phrase. Thankfully I require no damage control as Brian diligently decides to save Dexter's arse

A smile "It's rather obvious isn't it. Although she did stay with Joe awhile, we're both his after all."

Mommy dearest was a hooker then. The question must have been lying in my face as Brian smirked again, this time at me.

"No. She wasn't a hooker, loose enough to be, but I'll tell you this dear brother, there's a reason the first one on our crime scene got there so fast."

I'm confused? Wasn't Harry first on scene?

…

Oh.

A wave of anger rises up body, boiling my blood, I don't care if it's Brian or the fucking pope, and I see red. Before I understand what I've done feel a strong hand gripping my fist and two sets of hands gripping my shoulders. My sight returns and I see rust, Brian smiles, cocks his head and laughs, still holding my fist in a vice like grip.

"Shocking, isn't it?"

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**_Hey so this is a revision of the chapter, corrected my awful grammar, mostly, and added in some more information really. Hope you like._  
**


	6. Damn

**Heya, I know chapter is a bit short, but I hope you still like it. It just seemed a nice place to end it. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the rambles that begin life in the dark pit of my skull. XD**

**Ps. i'm messing around with the timing of things a bit. I hope it's not too confusing.  
**

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Harry.

Always about Harry.

Harry's code

Harry's teaching.

Harry…

And my Mother.

Laura.

Laura Moser and Harry Morgan.

Makes sense doesn't it? That Harry saved me; saved the poor starving child wallowing in gooey blood. Shame about Brian though, too old, too fucked up. Sure dirty Harry could deal with one psychopath, but two? I wonder did he even look me in the eye, really see me in the blood, and see my emptiness? Or think I was just too young to comprehend it. Of course once he'd had me for a few years and noticed the bones in the back yard, it would have looked perfectly odd had he got rid of me, besides I think he got attached, you don't raise a son without some sort of love for him do you? Guess I'll never know.

They dragged me from the interview room, Angry - at Harry but those details seem petty now - and told me to go home, calm down; now I'm in the corridor, alone.

My perfect life is crumbling away, melting away like the wicked witch in the 'wizard of OZ'.

Ironic.

Now… is there a way I can get to my car avoiding the viewing room thus avoiding the good old psychologist who has almost definitely realised there is more wrong with me than just some residual childhood trauma.

Alas it is really not my day as it is the only other door in the long hallway, so like the trooper I am, I march my way along the industrial strength lilac carpet. I'm not sure if I want to cry or kill someone actually.

I grab the door handle and twist, the door opens slowly and I feel like I'm in one of those darling torture porn movies as the poor girl covered in blood and smeared makeup. Okay Dex, onward to severe physiological quizzing.

But when I finally look into the room it's empty; Devoid of life, vacant, like me. I decide that this is probably my best chance to get away as unseen as possible and run.

I'm outside when I finally start to think again. How could he? Separate me from Brian; tear me away from my flesh and blood, and leave him festering while you cleaned my wounds. Flushed me from the tainted Moser name I belong.

You slaughtered my mother; you didn't need to wield the chain saw because you fucked her then sent her out as bait.

Then you raised me, a dippy disciple Dexter, gormless and dumb at the sight of the all knowing benevolent god, blinkered my vision down the path of Harry's way, a daylight dancer forbidden to shadow into the moonlight's glory.

I envy Biney, not the whole 'caught and in prison awaiting trial' thing, but his freedom. His dark passenger's wings flourish and flutter, killing both flora and fauna, a vast expanse of black leather casing his body like a caterpillar's cocoon. Mine, crippled and mutilated under the weight of the cast iron cage of Harry's code, my faux conscience the bloody, ensanguined lock. I want to be free, be free of god's clutches and sink down to the screaming depth of hell which is Miami, with Brian, together at last.

Of course that would be nice, rather impossible, but nice. As much as I hate it I need the code, it's a part of me just like the blood, my birthing blood.

Although I would love to break the code for Doakes, He's sitting across from my car in the motor pool maroon Ford Taurus again, it's like he never moved. Right. What does a man do when he has half the day off work? Visit the girlfriend's apparently as my hands on the steering wheel guide me in the direction of Rita's modest little home.

Rita.

I think the relationship is going well, but by my standards, no sex is a good thing so I'm not the best person to ask, though it should be a bit simpler now that Paul's squared away, a really ingenious idea on my part don't you think? No way can Rita link it to me because doubtless Paul is blaming me for his unfortunate imprisonment. No way could daft dear Dex ever hurt a fly, he's only a lab geek don't ya know?

Ah, here at last. As much as I love the homicidal human nature shown on Miami's roads, poor brain is suffering a bit today and I couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for the several gore slicked pile-ups that graced my presence on the highway.

Doakes rolls up and parks further up on the street as I reach Rita's door. A glance and a smile sent his way as the door to the house slowly squeaks opens.

"Hello, Rita." I manage in my most chivalrous tone "I had the rest of the day off, I thought I'd come make a visit to see my favourite girl."

Although I don't my gallant tone was a bit off as all I see from Rita is a blank hard stare and lips so drawn and white if the rest of her face wasn't so red I'd think she were dead.

"In."

O…Kay. Not the expected reaction. Honest to fucking God can this day get any worse?

Afraid so as Rita's face seems set in stone as she slams the door behind me.

"I got a call from the prison today."

Oh.

"Paul's dead."

And this is a bad thing?

"I talked to him Dexter, last night. He said you hit him over the head with something and drugged him. He said you set him up. I didn't believe him obviously, but he told me to look for a shoe, I said I wouldn't and he hung up."

…

"I was out watering and guess what, I found the shoe. So what happened Dexter?"

And in any other circumstance I could lie and cover my tracks but today my brain just doesn't want the function leaving me to wallow in the easy guilt that has been oh so thankfully been placed apon my head.

Rita runs her hand through her hair, despair leaking out every pore. A wet sigh.

"Are you an addict Dexter?"

It's not surprising she went their first given her history, so I decide to be honest

And I say the truest thing I can.

"Yes."

Because yes, I am an addict.

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**Thanks for the reviews everyone.**


	7. Smack

**Heya, good luck guys. I'm on a roll. Another chapter! :D**

**Please don't expect this to happen often or you may be severely disappointed**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing apart from the plot. :(**

_**Updated: tried to fix issues etc. **_

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Narcotics anonymous.

Such a delightful term, a place where one can be at peace and fight their demons in a healthy, constructive way. Frankly I think some just come for the coffee and slightly melted Oreos as that is what seems to keep most people's attention in this diminutive church hall. I, on the other hand, find myself staring at the young man currently speaking of the podium. As a 'drug addict' who doesn't actually have a drug problem I find it best just to look like I'm interesting in cleaning myself up and packaging myself for 'normal' life whatever that is.

It's been a week since my life was destroyed, okay maybe that's a bit of an overstatement, but things have changed. Doakes follows me where ever I go now, cops not in homicide look at me in suspicion. I'm not harmless any more I don't bring in doughnuts; I don't see the point, Vince was upset but he started bringing them in after two days and that controversy went away, apparently it really doesn't matter who brings them in as long as someone does. On the up side though, Deb's back tomorrow which should be nice, I've decided not to mention the whole interview thing with her though, too much trauma is bad for the mind.

The guy on the podium finishes and everyone claps, it's the done thing so I do it too, but no one really cares. A woman turns in my direction, her black eyes crawl over mine and I shiver, she has a dark passenger; it's not like mine, but it is there, cold and coiled and ready to strike. I know I shouldn't risk it but I haven't had much fun in such a while, so I decide to investigate. It doesn't take much for me to get her charmed and ready to leave with me to a coffee bar up the street, I think she's studying me too, it is Miami but it can't be too often that two fully formed, perfectly functionally sociopaths meet in a N.A meeting. I've only been to one meeting, and I'm already desperate to leave the program and she seems like a perfectly fake friendly face to help me out.

We sit down, she orders a cappuccino and I, mocha, it is one of my numerous guilty pleasures. She raises her eyebrow at me so I answer the question written in her face.

"Yeah, I know, but there just so good. "

She looks through narrowed eyes

"You're an enigma Dexter." And for the first time I notice her accent, a very strong English one and I feel rather stupid for not noticing it earlier. And it's a rather silly reply I give but I can't help it.

"So are you Lila."

I feel like a blushing school girl; what the shame! We both smile and the tension eases, we spend the next 5 minutes in silence, drinking our coffee.

"So Dexter, what did you want to know? "

I feel rather foolish asking now,

"Is there a way I can hurry this whole process up, like a quick fix or something?" She must see through my dead-eyed puppy expression for she laughs, well giggles really; if I had emotions, my face would be flushed with blood.

"Be honest, tell me if I'm right, okay? Your girlfriend, or boyfriend but I doubt it, has sent you to N.A and you really don't want to be here?"

No? But alas she's hit the proverbial nail on the head with that, so I nod my head modestly. She smirks back at me, finishing her coffee in the process.

"I'll sponsor you, I can work my way around the gender issue. I like you Dexter; you 'interest' me."

Lila gets up and chucks some money on the table. It's probably enough to cover both our coffees.

"I'll see you around."

With a last swish of her long, black hair she is gone, leaving nothing but the cash and a scent of vanilla in her wake. This has been a productive night at least; I've got an N.A sponsor in a sociopathic English woman who machinations may be par to mine. I haven't seen Doakes since lunch either; apparently he actually has some police work to do.

But as if fate had decided to frown on me, as soon as I open the door to the delicious night; I see a maroon blob in the distance. Doakes should really find a better undercover car that his suspect doesn't recognise, I don't stick around however to muse on my latest thought. I'm in my little car in a flash and before the car door is fully closed I'm zooming out the church car park. I ride the homicidal highway, a few friendly fingers wave as I pass them by, and reach home in record time; I don't bother looking out my porch, I know there will be a very familiar car parked under the palm tree just left of the door.

Deb's on the couch, semi-asleep, small twitches and incomprehensible grunts creep from her person preventing her from a restful night. She hasn't been sleeping properly since she found out, post-traumatic stress it seems. I try to sneak by quietly; the coffee took us till ten o'clock so it must be at least half past.

"Where the fuck you been?"

Okay, apparently not quietly enough.

"Rita's"

"Okay. Piss off and do it quietly." She mutters promptly followed by snores.

You have got to love Debs eloquence. I think she is the one person on the earth who can tell you to fuck off affectionately. I take a glance out of my window; like I thought, I guess the Blind shaman will have to wait until another day, no worries, I'm not rushed.

….

Its 6 o'clock when I'm awoken by the alarm clock; regular old day, well apart from the erring of the treadmill in the next room, Deb's nervous and she has a rather more healthy way of releasing nervous energy than I do so for the past week all I've heard in the morning is the rolling rotas of the machine. I don't mind, the mechanical grinding has a certain peace to it.

Our relationships still a bit awkward, she is petrified of Brian and I remind her of him, surprise surprise, but she can't be left alone either. It's a predicament, big brother Dex will have to do though, I feel so loved. I make breakfast and coffee, Deb's after mine; I know it may seem rude to cater to yourself first when you have a guest but if I cooked Deb's first I would never have time to eat. Deb's disastrous organisational skills would have made us a quarter hour late, but thankfully I know Deb and have adjusted my daily routine accordingly. We reach my car by seven and presuming there are no more than 5 car crashes we should be there by eight, I shift the car into drive, Deb moaning about something or other in my ear, I turn my head and a see a flash of a rather familiar maroon snugly sat under the cool shade of a palm tree. Does he stay there all night? Because honestly it's really starting to piss me off. So as the Miami native I am I floor the car and swing it around sparking dust and sand in my wake.

"What the fuck Dex? Talk about road rage." I don't bother to react so the whole awful sticky ride is spent in stifling silence. We make good time.

I park up at the station and lean to the door.

"What's wrong Dex? I mean come on you didn't even get donuts."

Wow.

That was unprecedented, and very unlike Deb. I tend to think of her as a wrecking ball of fury, but it seems she's gone all fluffy in her stress. My gormless expression perhaps wasn't what she wanted though as she snaps her door open and stalks away in a huff. I re-evaluate fluffy.

I make my way into work, the usual glares and stares are shot my way and I dart for the sanctuary of my office.

What have I got? A Murder-suicide and a bludgeoning, I work for a half hour, the cases are pretty simple, blunt force trauma as you'd expect and a few blades. The distinctive squeak of the door awakens me to the outside world again. It's La Guerta.

"Dexter we have a case. We need you in the briefing room." I don't mind La Guerta, sure she's not the sharpest knife in the block but her 'detective' work allowed Brian free for a bit longer and I can only be glad for that. Besides I can charm her well enough for any of my suspicious behaviour to be over looked, mostly. The briefing room is almost full by the time I join the delightful rabble of Baa-ing sheep. Officer Lopez comes in last and shuts the door; it works as a catalyst for silence as it quickly descends. Lieutenant La Guerta steps up to the podium; to be honest it's all eerily reminiscent of my N.A meeting.

"We have a new case guys but first thing first let's welcome back Officer Morgan" The shark grinning through her teeth, the Lieutenant hates Deb but by god she puts on a great show! A warm smile stretches against the Botox, yet her eyes stab like glass; A true professional. The rest of the cops clap to Debra's great embarrassment, she blushes, nods and rearranges her face to fit the cop standard then returns to her seat.

"Right people, we have what looks like a gang related shooting. A nine year old Emily Davies was caught in the cross fire. I want Sergeant Doakes and Officer Morgan out there interviewing witnesses, Lopez…"

My attentions drift, my little backseat driver even seems unimpressed by this one. Considering I've killed upwards of 30 members of the 'Scum of the Earth' society, my withered little soul still flickers when kids are involved. Kill a child and it like paying $20 to reach the front of dark debonair Dexter's queue. Children are innocent, happy and no one should take that.

"Dexter, I want you to go to the crime scene, analyse any blood patterns, and see what you can find."

"Yes lieutenant."

And in less than five minutes I'm out of this lovely air-conditioned building and into the increasingly hot and humid weather outside, less than twenty-five and I'm analysing blood patterns splattered on the slightly melting tarmac. High velocity, about 5 different shots penetrating, at least the girl died quickly. But still, pretty much cut and dried this one for me. I take this opportunity to scarper and skulk back to my car, shame Doakes has decided to park his muscled frame in front of the driver's door.

"Enjoy your night off motherfucker?

Phew. He didn't see me at N.A., which would have been quite hard to explain above everything else at the moment; he must have caught up to me as Lila and I were drinking coffee. I don't really want to add drug addict to my list of delightful qualities; such as: psychopath, serial killer, Brother of another serial killer. Working in the police department, all of the qualities above would get me fired, or at least a strong reprimand.

Not good.

"Very much so Sergeant, I missed you." I say with a smile, there really isn't enough time in the world to fuck with him.

"Shut up motherfucker and get back to work asshole." He scowls and stalks back to the crime scene.

I get in my car and zoom back to the office. The rest of my work day is filled with the mind numbing monotony of mediocre murders, wannabe gangsters splattered over drug disputes etc, and I soon find its 5 o'clock and going home time. Well, going to Rita's time, I had promised her I would come round so we could discuss my first ever N.A meeting.

I reach Rita's by 5:30 and am soon sitting on the sofa, Bud in hand and 'listening' to Rita prattling on.

"… Dexter. Are you listening to me?" I just about hear Rita say it, so I shake my brain and refocus it on her.

"Yes."

"Good. How was your meeting? Did you get your chip?"

I have Lila's, does that count? I forgot to grab mine on the way out.

"Yep, got it, and yeah it was good. I've got a sponsor already, we just sort of clicked I guess."

Well if by clicked you mean welded together by the proverbial thunder which are our respective dark passengers, then yes, we clicked.

"Oh that great Dexter, what's his name?"

"Her name's Lila." I see Rita's warm face chill by a few degrees.

"Her? But sponsors have to be of the same sex." Her confusion and suspicion are knit in her eyebrows.

"Nope apparently not, just two people who have had similar experiences" I mention rather off-handily in a genial tone.

She looks more convinced now but still a tad sceptical. I can't see why, I'm barely interesting in sex with her let alone with anyone else.

Finally Rita nods and moves on, and before I've realised it she has jumped to a new topic entirely.

"… Mother is coming down for a while."

Oh, okay. I'm good with parents anyways; people say I'm too charming for my own good, and I must admit being charming is much easier if you have no conscience to hold you back.

'We' talk for another five minutes until my highly tuned senses pick up a rattle of the door knob, and two little faces come peering in.

Astor and Cody.

They're both quiet, but in contrast to Cody, Astor is a complete chatterbox. It's not that often you hear Cody utter more than 4 syllables at a time, and he wasn't going to today either apparently as Astor had decided to take the role of spokesman for the pair.

"Hi Mom, hi Dexter" says Astor quietly

"Hi." Adds Cody

Rita has obviously decided to play mother hen today for as soon as Astor opens her mouth; Rita is over there with them, relieving them of their bags and ushering them into the house. Could I really do that? Could I really turn Dexter domestic? I much prefer my current occupation as Dexter dicer; well I would do if someone wouldn't follow me so much.

But sadly I settle down and do all the mundane things expected of me, well apart from eat. Rita is an absolute goddess in the kitchen so eating here is never a chore.

It's nine by the time I finally leave, a kiss for Rita, a salute for both the kids and I'm off, my usual entourage following of course. I enjoy the homicidal traffic and reach home relaxed. I think things are finally beginning to look up for me, Rita is good, and N.A. isn't a complete fucking bore. I put the key in my door when I feel the handle wrenched from my hands. Deb's on the other hand jumping out of her skin.

"Dex you have to see this. Come on, come on, come on."

I'm slightly scared now. Last time Deb was this happy, she had fallen for a serial killer sibling of mine. She drags me to the TV screen which seems to be rolling on replay,

"_Shocking discovery: It appears that some sort of makeshift gravesite has been found of the coast of Miami, it was discovered late this afternoon during a diving class. At the moment there seems to be 18 confirmed bodies with there being reports of up to 30 bodies being found. All bodies are dismembered and are reminiscent of a recent spate of homicides in Miami Dade County…"_

"Fuck Dex, this could be the product of a serial killer way worse than the ice truck killer." Deb's all excited, I'm not.

Shit.

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**Heya, Thanks for the reviews and please keep on reviewing. :)**


	8. Brother

Heya, sorry for the long wait, and sorry nothing much happens in the chapter, but there is Brian and Dexter stuff. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Damn.

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I like having an older brother, okay so we're not conventional but it's always nice to have someone to come to for advice when you fuck up, and yes when I fuck up I fuck up badly. Extremely badly, massively. Brian seems to sense that when I reach the visiting area of his new housing arrangement.

The wall of thick semi-clean plexy glass stuck between us is now only an inch thick with a few oddly shaped holes drilled periodically to allow for sound waves to pass between us.

Brian's in the usual Day-glow orange, not a great colour for him, I think he's more of a dark coloured guy. His hair is wild around his face; like mine only I still have access to grooming products to keep it slightly controllable. His face still has the same serene smile on it that it always does. That nice, at least one of us is calm.

"What's happened? You look worse than me and I tried to kill a cop." Brian speaks, and as much as I love the steady stream of my brother's little quirks and his homicidal nature, today I can't seem to appreciate it.

"They found it. They found it goddamn it!" I try to scream as loud as I can while whispering. It would not be a good idea for any sort of law enforcement personnel to overhear our conversation now. 'Oh it's only a blood splatter geek talking to his homicidal brother about dead bodies, nothing to worry about.' Yeah right. That would go down well.

Brian seems to get my agitation and fragile predicament as his face drops into a blank mask as he realises the implications.

"Well you may be able to share a cell with me?" I send a hard glare in his direction.

"If I get caught, dear brother, there would be two of us going to death row. Not just one. And on death row no one shares cells." I reply running out of patience.

"Maybe we could apply to?" Brian replies and I let my head smack the table, hard. I lift it wearily and respond.

"Yes, that's just fine and dandy then, I'm sure they'll let the most prolific serial killers in Miami history have a cell together on death row, maybe we can ask them for a house instead."

I'm sinking deep into the land of sarcasm now but apparently logic won't work on a bored and psychotic brother of mine. Then again what do I even know about Brian? Sure he's my brother, a killer, and was raised in an institution, but that's it.

"Alright fine, ruin my fun. What do you expect me to do? I'm kind of stuck here and unless you can find $500,000 in bail money, I'm not getting out of here anytime soon. "

He's not.

Even if I had access to that money, it would be impossible to post it without someone find out, I mean where would he live? Certainly not my apartment, Deb's still there, and I really don't fancy another family reunion. Defiantly not Rita's, can you imagine the carnage, I think she would keel over with shock_. 'Rita. I'm home, guess who's staying a while? You remember Brian don't you? Sure he was using the name Rudy but... oh and by the way, He's my brother."_

Rita's quite a delightful piece of cover for me; it might be difficult to get another, besides I'm quite fond of her.

Joe's wouldn't do, too open, and…

Brian and Dexy's ancestral home?

Well that would be an option if police weren't monitoring the place and no one knew about our familial relationship.

So no. Defiantly not.

We're both quiet, there's no need for awkward forced conversation. The silence continues for a few minutes, the guard staring at us oddly and my mind often wandering to sanctified scenes of sacred ritual, the screech of duck tape ripping off the roll, the seductive screams of the men and women under my knife; ahh peace. I'm roused from my delightful daydreams when out of the corner of my eye is see Brian lift his head slightly, he opens his mouth and I expect him to speak but hear nothing.

I don't think either of us know each other much really, I'm Dexter Morgan, Blood splatter analyst, Brother, Boyfriend, Adopted. But all I know about Brian is that he's like me… and didn't get adopted. It's strange to think I'd be like him, no code, no rules, and no restrictions.

I decide to speak, partially to fill the silence, but mostly because I'm actually drowning in a shit storm of my own making.

"So… what do I do?" Because honestly? I have no idea.

"I don't know Dex."

We sit in silence again, this time until visiting time is over and I'm shuffled out of the room by an armed guard. I go home, no need for me to be at the station, the meeting describing the atrocities was short, 5 minutes max. Apparently the FBI are being brought in, their superstar,

Special Agent Frank Lundy.

I'm so fucked.

After it was announced the FBI was arming their troops, the meeting had just sort of… dispersed. A more in-depth briefing is due for tomorrow as rumour has it that Lundy is touching down in our lovely little harmless city tonight.

I drive around to Rita's; the kids should be home by now and besides its 4pm, what damage can be done at 4 pm? Such a calm peaceful time, Rush hour doesn't start till 5 so I only encounter a few maniacs and most of those just use the Miami middle finger on me. Still it's 4:30 when I reach the lovely dying lemon tree adorning the front of my girlfriend's home. I send the cursory wave at the maroon splodge parked about 100 feet away and ring the door bell, it opens only a few seconds later and I'm ushered in hurriedly. A frumpy looking older woman is sat on the couch in my usual seat, and for some peculiar reason I begin to feel the strange stirrings of indignation rumble in the pit of my stomach. She looks up and turns towards me, and suddenly I, the 'bay harbour butcher' as I've been dubbed, want recoil as far away from the woman's prying eyes as physically possible. She glares at me, her eyes cold and sharp, yet I see a faint resemblance to the warm and lovely Rita. It's Mother then. Now I'm not surprised that Rita's been acting so strangely lately, she was raised by that?

I shouldn't be thinking like that should I? Gail might just be a warm and lovely person under all the really not nice just like Rita.

"You must be Dexter." No such luck then. She speaks from her place on the couch, a heavy semblance of hostility hanging over her like a cloud, hatred seems to bubble on her lips and I haven't even said hello yet.

"Yes, you must be Gail, nice to meet you." Keep up the smiles Dexter, it'll be fine.

She looks at me, wary, then nods and turns away, leaving dapper Dexter alone with his thoughts again. Well that is until Rita comes bustling over, taking my blood kit away from my hand and quickly replacing it with a cold glass bottle. Ahh 'lite' beer, I've grow quite an attachment to the cutely and aptly named beer during my time of Diurnal captivity. Being locked away in a cage of normalcy is not good for me; I find I'm actually coming to enjoy the mundane and dull of the regular hard working man's life, lite beer and picture perfect girlfriend to go with it.

Oh dear god.

The humdrum continues until 9 o'clock, the children are in bed, Rita is sitting like the couch is infected with anthrax, and I've stayed long enough for my visit to appear viable to the good sergeant outside. I pick up my blood kit, say my goodbyes to Rita, and virtually skip to the door. My attempt to open the door however is thwarted, I feel a small hand with sharp nails dig into my arm, I turn to face my assailant; Gail's face staring into mine, no sign of Rita anywhere.

"I'm watching you Dexter Morgan."

Oh great, another one.

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Thx for all the reviews. I really appreciate them. they make me smile. :)


	9. Deviant

**Hi Guys, sorry for the wait, I think i'm losing my mojo a bit. I hope you like it.**

**Ps. sorry for the big chunk from an episode, I wanted to make a direct link to the series,**

**Disclaimer: I own Nothing but plot**

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Good morning Miami chapter 9

Lundy's here.

Deb told me, as if it wasn't oblivious from the buzz around the station. Even Doakes seems in awe of him, that doesn't bode well for me. Its nine now, I've been here since eight, but apparently the rest of the staff has been here since seven. There are coffee cups all around, chocolate cake, and there are even donuts left over. Again it's like the whole Brian incident all over again, slightly different of course. I didn't even get a glare and a trailing from Doakes this morning, very odd indeed. I'm with Deb in the conference room; she thinks I'm there for her but honestly? I just need to keep up with the whole investigation.

"Shit Dex, Lundy's gunna catch this mother fucking son of a bitch."

Deb has taken my familial relations quite well actually, she's a little wary of me sometimes, but I'm looking to the positive side and the fact she hasn't had a mental breakdown yet. I just nod in reply. I don't really want Lundy to catch me, I like being an almost free man.

Cops begin to pour in to the room, like blood over plastic, a steady stream of blue polyester, It's slows to a trickle quite quickly. Nervous energy bubbles as the room seems to drone with life, the rooms at full capacity… Plus about 20 extra. I even see reception staff, the same lot who quake in fear in sight of me; they'll be shitting themselves if the real truth comes out.

It's won't.

It can't. I don't want to go to prison, have my sordid life dragged out like a parade of blood and body parts. Let's face it; they're not going to bring up my college degree when they parade my blood slides around.

The rooms all silent again, the double doors swing open and smash against the frosted glass of the modern walls. Two men in black suits walk in first, officially FBI, but they look like body guards to me, Tall, 270 pounds, able to snap me like a twig.

A man follows them a few paces behind. Reasonably tall yet still dwarfed by the 'FBI agents', about 60-ish, with eyes that seem to heat the room at least a few degrees.

Must be Lundy then.

He walks up to the podium, the bodyguard FBI appearing to disappear into the corners of the room. Lundy stares at us all, gazing his eyes over the crowd, our eyes don't meet and I'm glad, that man hasn't even spoken yet and I'm already thinking over my terms for surrender.

Lundy coughs and all non-existent muttering stops.

"I am Special Agent Frank Lundy, I am here to aid the Miami-Metro investigation into the so called 'Bay Harbour Butcher.' I'm afraid I have to ask all those not in the Miami-metro homicide division to leave as it is essential that this situation is dealt with as quickly and as neatly as possible. "

Before now I don't think I've ever realised that how many people work in homicide. It's not that many really as over half of the room file out muttering under their breath.

The shuffling takes about 3 minutes, people are rather reluctant to leave, but even now I can sense them gathering outside the thick wooden doors; ear to the synthetic wood panel.

Our numbers have been reduced to about 17 and I feel suddenly far more accessible which is slightly uncomfortable.

Again Lundy coughs and again silence rings out.

"There is no such thing as the perfect murder. Not my experience anyway. The perp is very methodical, Very clean, very calm because of this I imagine that some of you may be linking these murders to the recently caught Ice truck killer." Lundy flashes a picture of Brian on the wall, A few vacant eyes glance my way, and Deb grips my arm, Tight. I really don't know where she gets the strength from, but then she looks at me, huge doe eyes searching for reassurance, reassurance I just can't give her.

I can't do this, be split between family, and although Brian would disagree, Deb is family.

So I leave. I'm at the back so it doesn't disrupt, but Doakes notices, and if not for his hero worship of Lundy he would be up my ass quicker than a dog with a bone. Deb notices too, but I think that's because I literally had to rip my arm out of her blood choke.

Lundy will find out soon, in the meantime however I really need to kill somebody. It's been 23 days since I've satisfied the growling, growing need, and honestly I think with all the emotional turmoil I've been through I deserve at least one, nice, clean, squared away kill, something to polish and shine my not so perfect little corner of the world.

I go home, I have my laptop and I can always hack on to the Miami metro server if I need to. I had planned to follow a man named Roger Hicks before the Brian situation and the newly crowned Bay harbour butcher situation came to fruition, but unsurprisingly really he slowly slid down Dear Dexter's dark problem list, until he wasn't a big priority. I'd managed to do a bit of research on him though, enough to know his M.O. He's clever; I'll give him that, who would suspect the kindly, bubbly Car sales man to hack a few poor brunette female customers to death. Besides who would link newly brought cars between the girls? It was a sibilant chuckle that rang the bell on this case, the girls lived in different places, worked for different companies, had probably never met, but that never stopped the dark passenger. A few slightly illegal internet searches and we were certain.

It was him.

But we still needed to stalk him out, realise and memorise his routines, I imagine it would be very awkward to be seen with a unconscious lump of flesh in your arms, although I don't really want find out if it is. So I go to the car lot, under the pretence that I'm looking for a family car.

And low and behold, I have one. That man is good, really he is, shame he'll be a pile of festering flesh soon. I drive to Rita's in the minivan, actually I think I could work with this, it's big, roomy, defiantly big enough to transport a body, and all my necessary equipment. Doakes isn't outside Rita's, I guess he has work to do. I knock on the door, Rita answers.

I put on my cursory smile and speak,

"Guess what?"

She looks at me oddly, I guess this isn't normal behaviour, but I suppose she'll get it when she sees the car.

"What happened Dexter? You're not high are you?"

"What? No. I want to show you something."

She looks at me dubiously but decides to come out side.

"Ta da. I know you were looking for a new car. So I thought we could have this to share."

I don't think I've ever seen Rita's eyes so wide; they look like they're going to pop from their sockets. Her mouth drops and I can see her struggling for words.

"D…Dex…ter bu…t how… can you… why… can you even afford this?"

"Sure, I've still got some money left over from Joe. So, what do you think?"

She looks at me and then the car, then me again and by this point I don't really know how to react. Well I don't until I feel a whoomph against my chest and a pair of slender arms grasping me with all their strength.

"Thank you Dexter, thank you so much, I really appreciate this, thank you thank you, thank you."

And just before my breath runs out, Rita lets me go.

"What did you do with your car Dexter?"

"Tiny flaw in my plan, I need you to drive me back to the lot."

"Sure thing."

When we reach the lot we say our goodbyes, Rita wanted me to come back to hers but I managed to wriggle out of it sighting too much work to do.

It's on the drive home I really think logistics. It has to be tonight, the need is too strong. I know I should wait until 'my' investigation blows over, but I can't and I know I need to get more DNA, more proof, but it needs to be tonight.

I get home and prepare,

Plastic sheets: tick

Knifes: tick

Duct tape: tick

Kill outfit: tick

I know I should eat, but I can't not before a kill, food leaves me heavy, weighted, I need to be sharp, agile, light on my feet, it's like I need to purge myself for my sacred ritual to be right.

Its seven now, the lot shuts at eight, my heart begins to race, this is it.

I sneak out the house, Doakes isn't here, and after all I did give the Station a lot of work to deal with so it's not a huge surprise. I reach the lot by seven thirty, Roger is just leaving, I walk round to his beamer.

"Roger the artful dodger. We have some unfinished business."He looks alarmed, I would be too, but then calms when he recognises me.

"Oh, right the warranty and stuff. Listen, I can' right now, I got the wife waiting for me."

"You're not married."

"Ex-wife, I gotta take the kids."

"You don't have kids."

"Stepkids, they're hers!"

"Nope."

"How about this: I don't give a shit!"

He laughs a little and turns back to his car, I'm on him. My 50 pound fishing wire does the trick as Roger is down in 10 seconds, the blood to his brain gone for the time being, don't worry roger, we'll make that permanent soon enough. I manage to stuff him in the boot; I shut it, and slam on drive.

Where am I?" such a typical response. I even put his hairpiece on a model head on the table with him.

"Looks different under plastic," I say

"But you spent an evening here...Ann Cohen? You took her last breath from her right over there, you remember?"

"No, you're wrong. I wouldn't." He's Panicking now, grasping at any chance I could be wrong. I'm not.

"No, you would, and you did, and you were about to do it again. That's why we're here."

"No, this is crazy. You got the wrong guy; I sell cars for God's sake! I never hurt anyone in my life, definitely not a woman."

Yep he's good. That even sounded genuine.

"Why can't I do that?" I really don't see it.

"Do what?" he's confused.

"Lie like that! I thought I was good, but you...mwah!"

"Take any car on the lot but please just spare me."I'll call it in right now!"

"Lot's closed."

"I'll have 'em open it up, I'm the manager." Keep em' coming.

"The manager's name is Rick Buxton. It's like watching someone ski moguls. You just hop from one lie to the next, no shame, no embarrassment. You just don't give a shit. That's the key, right? Not to care about anyone or anything."

"I care. I care a lot."

"No, it was a compliment!" It was, he should feel proud, I don't often compliment my prey. "I don't care either."

"Yes you do. Think about your wife."

"Not married."

"Your girlfriend, then. Saw it the minute you walked on the lot. It was like you could see her in the passenger seat, the kids in the back -"

"Leave the kids out."

"See you do care! Is this what this is about? You've got relationship issues Man, okay, I get it. I've been there too. But you can't let her get to you like this, 'cause they're all the same. Fuckin' bitches. You do everything for 'em, and then they fuck you! She's not worth it! You're better off without that cunt!"

I stab him.

"Don't talk that way about my girlfriend."

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**Thanks for any and all reviews. I really appreciate them.**


	10. Echo

**Wow. Chapter 10. I never thought I'd get this far. Thank you everyone who has reviewed, you've really pushed me on, even something so simple as ' awesome chapter ' makes me smile.**

**Right. Disclaimer time then : I own the plot. Nothing else. :( Damn.**

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N.A again, but for once I actually connect with these people. We're all addicts, we all have darkness within us, caged and screaming for release. The howling, grinding need that crushes our will, and makes us follow like pigs to the slaughter, screaming, kicking all the way, but we it's going to happen, it always happens, over and over again. It bleeds us dry, drains us of wilful disobedience, and whips us into line ready to do the dark deed again.

It's my turn to speak, share my problems, issues, dilemmas. I'll have to water them down a bit; don't want to scare my simple minded little fellows too much.

Besides it would not be good to draw attention to the fact there is a serial killer less than 50 ft away.

"I'm Dexter and I… Know what I am."

"Hi Dexter" a chorus echoes back to me.

"I know whatever makes me like this, it putrefies and eats at me, and it's something dark. Deadly. I hide it… certainly don't talk about it. But, it's there, always, this dark passenger inside me, tainting all that I touch. And when It's driving, I feel...alive. Half-sick with the thrill, the complete wrongness, I don't fight It. I don't want to. It's all I've got. But it's starting to leak, starting to grasp the steering wheel, needing its own applause, and I can't hide it anymore, it's out in the open, festering like cancer. It scares the hell out of me."

I see a few tears, a few sniffles, a few nods of understanding. Hah, If they really knew.

It's the end of the session, time to wrap up, pray and get those all important N.A chips. I get a one and sit down next to Lila

"Heya handsome, how's it doing?" she finishes her sentence with a large fake smile. I do her a courtesy, I smile back.

"Wonderful, yourself?" her smile rises a few notches.

"Great." she hesitates a minute "I want to get to know you more Dexter; I am your sponsor after all." She frowns "Care to spare me a few hours?"

Yes, I think I could manage that, I need to 'look' interested i suppose

"Sure." More fake smiles. I'm beginning to think it make be easier just to tell her I'm a sociopath, she would'nt mind.

"Okay Dex, go ahead to my truck. It's the green one. You've seen it before right?"

"Yep." She nods and turns away. I make my way to the exit.

Shit.

Doakes. We stare at each other, his devil, my demon each wanting to rip each other from their respective hosts, I walk up to him, He grins like the Cheshire cat.

"I knew there was something wrong with you. The secrets, the sneaking around. Now it all makes sense. What a family you have Moser."

Maybe it'll make even more sense form the bottom of the ocean?

Everyone else has already grabbed hands and started to pray, sans dapper Dexter of course. No one is looking in our direction; I take the opportunity and shove Doakes out of view. He seems dazed; I drag him by his shirt around the front, I keep a stiff grip on his polo ramming him into the wall.

"Keep the fuck away from me." I keep my voice low but I can't stop the steady stream of anger from flowing out my snarling mouth.

He doesn't seem fazed, nor does he resist his awkward positioning.

"A lot of cops have been where you are," Doakes starts. "The booze, the drugs, makes the job go down easier." Huh? " Stay clean and stay out of my way, we won't have a problem."

My hands go limp, my faces drops, and Doakes pulls away. He gets about 10 meters and turns, he stares intently at me for a few seconds then continues on his way.

Is Doakes not following me now?

My short musing is quickly cut off when I see long black hair of Lila spin around the corner. She looks at me oddly.

I anticipated her question

"I just had a little trouble, it's all sorted now. So where we going?"

.

I know she said she was an artist working with found materials, but I hadn't realised they were 'found' materials. Not that it bothered me from a purely moral stand point, I've done worse.

It's about four-ish and we've just rolled into her studio, two hours of driving around Miami was certainly enough time for us to get to know each other quite well.

Her full name is Lila Amy Tourney; she's 29, born in London, England. She moved out here 2 years ago, I didn't really catch why.

I told her the bare minimum I could about me.

Lila moves to what I assume is a kitchen area and I take the opportunity to look around. Her studio is large, and seems to double as her apartment as a bunk is shoved into the dark corner almost out of sight.

If I could feel I would be overwhelmed right now, dozens of canvases litter the walls, superimposed upon each other, each the colour of scarlet and dripping like blood. A few sculptures, mostly depicting men in various stages of intense agony.

I like this woman.

Lila returns holding two cups of what I assume is coffee.

"I liked your speech today Dexter." She tells me conversationally.

I'm grabbed a little off guard. I clear my throat.

"Yes, well, I was being honest…"

She smirks at me and nods.

"I bet you've never met someone who feels the same way."

Is Lila divulging dark deeds to dear Dexter?

I don't know what to say so I just shake my head.

"There's no way I could know what you've experience, right?" she says. "I couldn't possibly feel that need, like a thousand hiding voices whispering, 'this is who you are.' the growing need rises like a wave, prickling and teasing and prodding to be fed. But the whispering gets louder, until it's screaming, 'Now!' And it's the only voice you hear, the only voice you want to hear. And you belong to it; to this shadow self, to this … Dark passenger."

Yup, defiantly like me.

She knows, she gets me, she feels the same, feels the rip-roaring call of the fat red moon.

I don't think she's an 'NA' addict.

My bleeper goes off, I begin to open my mouth to say I have to leave, but she beats me to it.

"See you tomorrow Dexter. I'll call"

With that she turns away and begins 'sculpting' our 'found' materials, and I'm effectively dismissed.

I reach the police car park at about five. Debra would have had my ass if I took this long normally but she isn't here. In fact no-one is. I walk into the field morgue, I like to call it '_Rue De Morgue ala Dex', _only in my head of course, I'm master of self preservation. 18 bodies assembled from one hundred and eight 3mm thick heavy duty black bags, They missed a few bodies, some of the bags may have drifted into the gulf stream-just like jolly roger is doing now- never to be found though so it's way down on my ever growing problems list.

"Suit up, if you're gonna touch!"

Crap.

Lundy, I swear that man is like water vapour, always seeping into places that it shouldn't be.

"You beeped me here then, I'm Dexter Morgan." I hold out my hand for him to shake.

And about 3 seconds later I feel a tight grasp around my calloused hand.

"I know who you are." He smiles genially

Great.

I so did not hear the undertone in that.

My grip falters.

"You know then." It's not a question.

He releases my grip.

"Yes, but I don't blame you for not telling me. It must have been difficult for you finding out about your brother."

Yes, difficult indeed.

"You know these bodies talk to you? The ones with heads, anyway. They always speak, eventually. Just gotta ask the right questions."

I'm thankful for the subject change, even though this subject is just as uncomfortable for me.

"Which is?"

"Why were they chosen?" shit, he's looking for a pattern.

He gives a sad smirk at the chunks of fermenting flesh next to him.

"One doesn't kill this many people in this careful, methodical way without a reason, some twisted set of principles."

I blanch.

The code.

I curl a rather fake looking smile onto my face

"They would have to be twisted, wouldn't they?"

"Well yes, but they don't think that, some of the worst killers in history thought that their killings was just or deserved."

I think a 180 is deserved on my views here.

"There's no justification."

He apparently disagrees.

"Well, bar one, of course. To save an innocent life."

The room is quiet, eighteen bodies tend to that quite nicely, and it's a tranquil peace, the air-con humming lowly in the background causing the only sound.

He gets up.

"I'll see ya around Dexter."

He nods then walks away.

I'm all alone in a room of my own making.

I smile.

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	11. Rust

**Heya guys. I'm so sorry for the ultra long wait. I've had mocks then illness then art essays to deal with. :( **

**Thanks for the wonderful reviews the made me feel better while I was in bed coughing my throat out. :)**

**I apologize if you don't like this chapter, I've been struggling with a bit of writers block as well :(**

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Roast.

Rita's ravishing roast.

It's positively to die for.

However, her mother tends to turn even Rita's roast bitter.

I'm really growing to hate Gail,

First she steals my sofa spot, and then she rummages through Rita's drawers and finds an N.A chip. Okay that's only an assumption but Rita wouldn't have left it lying about with the wicked witch here. This means putting up with Gail for longer than the original week estimate but also having her meet my sponsor. Even Rita doesn't know what Lila looks like and she's due to come around next week, I think Rita hopes she'll be ugly.

She'll be disappointed.

Alas, time has sped up dramatically since my enlightening meeting with Lundy; I try to avoid him as much as possible. A few people at the station still look at me like I'm about to stab them between the eyes but it's in the minority now.

That's good considering.

It's been a week with no significant breakthroughs so it's been quite nice actually, and without Doakes following me around anymore, I can get some moonlighting done.

Ah, my favourite hobby. To anyone normal it would seem insane, my need, addiction… Because I've accepted that now, I'm an addict. But, I've found myself fall into a weekly cycle, what I call socio-sibling therapy. Really I just see my brother but I feel that, S.S.T has a better ring to it.

Brain calls out when he sees me, a semi-genuine smile plastered on his face. The guards are use to my face; we're now allowed visitations without the plexy glass. I think they've accepted that Brain won't try to kill me.

Fools.

I hear Brian described as 'Ted Bundy' as the two guards on duty move to the corner of the room, and a sly smile creeps onto my face, Ha that does sound like Brian, even while arrested with multiple homicides and identity theft he's still as charming as a psychopath can be. Which is to be honest is quite a bit actually.

Brian stands up and greets me with an embrace, a big man hug complete with a hard clap on the back which will most likely bruise tomorrow. His lips near my ear, he whispers

"Had a good week?"

I know what he's asking.

"Wonderful." I reply

He pulls me away from him and grasps my shoulders; His grin widens into a full blown smile and displays two rows of white, shiny teeth.

I replicate.

We release and sit down.

"So how was it? He asks, his face eager like a dumb puppy wanting to impress his master.

It's too much for me, I laugh. He pouts feigning indignation and I laugh more. Lord, we're both addicted, perhaps I should set up a Serial Killers anonymous session? N.A is doing wonders for my non-existent drug problem after all.

Oh… yeah.

Damn

I knew there was an actual reason for me coming here today. I ignore his question.

Lila wants to meet Brian, I don't even know how she did but she sneaked that bit of info out of me somehow.

Well at least it's better that bringing Rita.

Yes… far better.

I hear Brian cough; apparently I've been off in my own world again.

"Zoning are we?" he says with a quirk of his mouth. "What you thinking about?" His eyes hold as much curiosity as they possibly could without him breaching human. It's now or never I suppose.

Deep breath Dexter.

…

"I want you to meet my N.A sponsor."

Phew…

Brian just stares, no emotion on his stoic face what so ever, and then his mask begins to crack. I see him struggling to keep a straight face, his face morphing and twisting until I see him give up. He bursts out into hysterical laughter. I've been kind of expecting this reaction, laughing I mean, but surely me In N.A isn't so unbelievable, I have after all technically just found out my brother is a serial killer.

Brian certainly doesn't think so. He calms slightly but only enough to hold a coherent discussion.

"How the hell have you got anyone with at least a gram of brain tissue to believe that you're, you're" he points to me now. "A drug addict."

He laughs again although now it's more a giggle than anything else.

"Well, no-one knows, apart from the cop who was tailing me." I smother my body's wish to blush and solidify my face to stop my embarrassment from showing. Brian's face slips into neutral.

"You have a Cop tailing you? Why the hell are you coming here? Are you fucking suicidal? Shit Dex, did he follow you here?"

Oh, Hadn't I told him about Doakes?

"No, No it hasn't turned out too badly; he's stopped tailing me for the time being."

The action my brother does is only describable one way.

Face palm.

"God Dex, Don't you listen to it?"

It?

Brian stares at me blankly.

Oh.

It.

Do I? I mean I say I do but it never tells me who to kill, how too, why? Just to do it, a primal urge instilled in me from my second birth. Everything else is just… Harry. Wouldn't it just be so much easier for me to kill Doakes and dispose of his body? He's Ex-Black ops, An OGA agent; people would just assume he had been called away into the underground of America again. So why can't I kill him?

Harry. It's always Harry, and Brian knows.

Brian leans in to me from across the table,

"Kill him Dexter." He whispers dark deathly and straight to the point.

I hesitate. Can I really do that? Can I stop the heart of a man who has stopped no others unjustly?

I look at Brian again; look in to his rusty eyes glowing with malevolence.

Yes, I have to.

"Okay" I murmur, barely audible

Brian's face erupts into utter delight, his rust eyes now almost the day-glo of his clothing.

"It will be wonderful, no restraints no cage. Trust me."

And somehow I do.

He smiles, half genuine again.

"So when do I get to meet this sponsor of yours?"

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**Please Review, they make me smile and improve my healing powers. :)**


	12. Beer Bottle

**Heya. I love all your awesome reviews. :) You guys are fantastic.**

**I may have rushed this a bit to get this out to you for chrsitmas but I thought you guys deserved a gift :D**

**Merry Christmas!**

**Ps. I hope to see y'all soon but I have revision to do :( So i'll try. :)  
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It's crunch time.

Literally.

Rita's small table doesn't really fit more than four people around it, however right now there are six of us. 'More the merrier' has never been a falser expression.

Rita.

Cody.

Astor.

Gail.

Lila.

Me.

Honestly I'm not sure why the kids are with us; I think it's to delay the inevitable. Rita hasn't even mentioned to the kids who Lila is, thankfully I think there too young to comprehend the idea sponsors and N.A meetings. Apparently Paul didn't bring his sponsors home or even listen to them for that matter. Rita looks at me knowingly then shuffles the kids off to bed; it's nine, already past their bed time.

The orange caramel tart that once melted deliciously into my wanting mouth suddenly turns sour. Its time. Rita returns, her usual shuffling now quicker and more frequent, her fluttering further repeated. After about five minutes of it she finally sits.

It's the moment of truth.

Well not entirely but then if it were I wouldn't be speaking it to devil mother, more likely my defence attorney.

Gail begins her usual snide remarks still prevalent.

"So, Lila, was it? How did you come to sponsor Dexter, Previous experience tells me this arrangement is very odd?" she doesn't quite burn a hole in her daughters head but it's a close call.

Lila smiles and Rita's incredibly strained face smoothes slightly.

"Oh, we have similar experiences, not just the same drugs but we've both had family in prison as well, and apparently it's quite a triggering factor. Not to mention Childhoods."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My face feels like thunder and from Lila's gasp it looks it to. How am I meant to explain this to Rita? I was hoping to take the cowards' way out and never tell her but obviously that's not possible now.

Well we can't all be Prince Arthur can we?

I slowly look to Rita, my eyes seem glued to Lila's seemingly genuinely apologetic face, I don't think I want to see my girlfriend's reaction.

But I do ultimately forcibly rip my cold eyes from Lila and compel them to travel the small distance between the two women.

I'm rather astonished actually, there's nothing. Her face is devoid, hollow, empty… nothing.

Like… me.

God, am I infectious now?

Anger begins to swim into her eyes but it's gone as quick as it came.

Oh good. I'm not.

Rita suddenly directs a glare to me so powerful that I feel my brain imploding under the pressure, oh she's pissed.

She turns to Lila and smiles.

.

It's another hour before Lila leaves and it's possible the most awkward and painfully anxious hour I've ever had to live through. Rita was all smiles to anyone but me, Gail glared a smouldering hole in-between my eyes and Lila didn't seem at all inclined to help me end the torment by leaving.

She finally did but now I'm on the wrong side of an interrogation table with a visibly angry girlfriend glowering down her nose at me. Gail removed herself from the situation; my evaluation of her is going up, I almost want to worship at her feet. Almost.

"So Dexter," Rita begins, her pacing becoming rhythmical to my ears,

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap…Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Anything else I should know about you?" she utters still appearing calm and composed.

Umm….. Well… about that…

Apparently silence isn't a good thing.

Rita blows.

"What do you take me for Dexter? Huh? I've tried I really have, but I can't … god I can't be with you if you keep keeping these secrets from me. Big Secrets from me."

I say nothing. I can't, if I told her anything I'd be dumped for sure, well in prison most likely but there's nothing worse than looking on the down side of things.

Rita sighs. "Fine, fine. Don't tell me… But Dexter I do what to get more involved, please tell me about something, your brother, sister, mother, father! I don't… please just let me in."

I tell her the least damaging thing I can think of.

"My mother was murdered." I hear her gasp but I continue, "by four men, in a shipping container with chainsaws, I... we were left there for 3 days in her and some other men's thick sticky blood. Harry found us and adopted me."

When I awaken from my muse Rita has moved from her pacing position of power to slumping down in the wooden seat opposite looked rather a fresh tone of green.

She looks afraid to ask but does anyway. "…we?"

Damn.

I have to tell her about Brian now.

I swallow, "my brother and I."

"And… wha…what happened to him…?" she looks like she really doesn't want the answer but I respond anyway

"He…umm… got sent to a mental asylum."

Rita tries to regulate her breathing but all this information is obviously difficult for her to handle

"Why's he in prison Dexter?" her suddenly confident voice surprises me a little.

Truth it is then

"He's awaiting trial for the murder of at least five prostitutes and a doctor, also stealing the identity of the Dr. Rudy Cooper."

Crash.

Huh?

Oh.

Rita fainted.

.

.

Its four o'clock when chaos strikes at the station, Deb's got a lead.

"… fucker, you don't get it do you douche? Every fucking one of these vics has a criminal record and guess what's fucking more? They all got off on a case, ever single cock sucker here, every single one. We've got ourselves a motherfucking pattern bitch."

I was just coming out of my office when I first hear her acclamation but I think anyone who knows Deb could guess the first part of the sentence.

But I'm missing the point here aren't I?

Deb, my sister, my wonderful glorious foul mouthed sister is now ten steps closer to my truth.

I do wonder Why she has to be so good at her job, I often have moments I really wish La Guerta was lead on my case; I'd never get caught then.

I look into the case room, it's a mess. Deb's working environment if there ever was one. Files are spread on the floor like butter on toast and the far wall is pinned with my many conquests.

It's strange seeing all my old friends again, I'd never expected too, I think I'd kinda assumed that I'd never see them again, that the ocean would simply swallow them up like little black liquorice blobs to Augustus gloop.

Apparently not.

The glossy flat images stare back at me, their hollow empty eyes accusing, well what I assume is accusing anyway; I can't feel it.

All thirty-six of my dear old friends lined up on the wall.

Ha!

Thirty-six Bottles of Beer on the wall…

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**Hello again wickedly awesome people, the review button is below I've heard it loves being pressed. :) ( Is it just me or does that sound dirty to you.?)**


	13. Rebirth

**Hey. I Know all you guys probably hate me right now for the almost month wait for the new chapter and I'm so sorry, life just happened i guess.**

**Well, This chapter is another mile stone. '20,000 words' . Crap.**

**Wow. That's just shocking to me, and I would have never gotten there without you guys reading and reviewing, faving etc.**

**I love you all so much. :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing unfortunately. **

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Most of my victims have been in Brian's situation at one point or another. Locked away, awaiting trail, their family too poor to pay the extortionate bail.

If I was at all normal or philosophical I may think deeper than that, maybe about the irony but I'm not. Lila's with me now, the guards look at me oddly, No-one ever visits Brian.

No-one.

Well I suppose he did kill our remaining family in Joe, so it's not like he knows many people.

He'll know another now.

That makes me smile.

I ignore the guards and grasp Lila's arm and I stare at the contrast in our skin. Hers is pale; dead flesh under moonlight starkly altered from mine, darkly tan, littered in scars, people always want to get away from me for some reason. I wonder what Brian's skin is like? It can't be completely unblemished; he lived in a 70's mental institution after all. I snarl internally, No-one has the right to harm him. He's 'My' brother, and once again I'm reminded why Harry's now in my black bible. A god, but one I'm quickly losing faith for.

The heavy steel door swings obediently open for us, the man in the bright orange at one of the tables' smiles at us as if we were in star bucks. He waves a slightly pale hand and beckons us over.

"Ah Dexter, god it feels like we haven't seen each other in a week."

He right, we haven't

He turns to Lila, his eyes roaming appreciatively of her flesh.

"And you, Must my by little brothers" he coughs here "N.A sponsor." Brian adds one of our 'I'll charm you to death. Literally' smiles.

I look at Lila properly now, if she doesn't recognise Brian by now, well she hasn't been in America for the last 6 months.

From the looks of things she has been and she does.

Her skin is snow pale, quite a feat in Miami, her eyes are wide and glassy; she turns to me.

"Your brother. Brother. Is the ice truck killer?" she doesn't sound scared, just incredulous. Being a sociopath will do that to you.

"Yes" flat, honest.

"Any other mind blowing secrets to tell me while you at it?" she asks dubiously.

Brian cuts in before I can utter single word.

"Oh yes, my little brother is full of surprises."

Have I mentioned I hate my brother, I mean really murderously hate him?

Well I'm mentioning that now.

It was meant to be one meeting. Just the clear up any questions about our relationship, but no. my brother had to stick his fat foot in it and mention just why he was like how he is, thus by extension me.

So he's the god damn fucking reason that I'm in a car with my 'sponsor' who as it in her pretty head that confronting my past will help wean me off my 'Addiction.' You know sometimes I think she knows I'm not an addict and just torments me like this for fun. I sigh but keep driving, moaning won't help, I know that.

Lila's rambling with utter mundane and boring conversation, I nod and 'uhuh' at the right time, but at least it gives me time to think. I got call from Deb, at about 20 miles into our journey while Lila was driving; it was a mostly normal conversation of her screaming obscenities at me alternating them with information pertinent to one of her cases, but she asked me just before she clocked off if I'd fucked with Doakes' morning coffee, before I could reply she surged on saying something about being high, Doakes and a cigarette.

Then hung up.

It took me a while to work it out, my lizard brain snoozing and at inattention.

But when it did.

Shit.

Doakes is going to start tailing me again; maybe I should take up Brian's suggestion.

But not now, besides the fact I'm in a car with a strange kind of sociopathic woman, I'm here on a mission. I'm here to have a 'talk' with one Santos Jimenez, it'll be my sort of talk of course with a saran wrap background but Lila doesn't need to know that. Of course the douche bag has to live in Naples thus the reason for the 120 mile journey. Rita hasn't really be talking to me much since the family discussion situation so I'd figured she wouldn't mind me AWOl for a weekend at least.

The radio's playing Tito Puente; the Cuban music is drumming away in the back ground echoing my gleefully happy Dark passenger. He's going out tonight and it's going to be a big occasion.

I think it's funny when normal people refer to the term 'It's been a while' to seeing each other or for sex; it's never that for me. Then again I'm not normal am I?

"Xter… Dexter!" Lila shakes my arm, Huh? We're here; I really should stop reminiscing while driving. It's an issue of public safety after all.

The motel we've stopped at reminds me of psycho slightly; there are even a few taxidermied animals in the reception which I think is nice. No big mansion but I guess you can't have everything.

I haven't done much research, only that Jimenez owns a bar in the area. But I've been flying a bit loose of the code lately anyway; I don't think this will fuck up the order of things much more.

Our room's a peachy colour, the artwork on the walls terrible.

"Come on Dex, This isn't art, its cottage porn." She tells me while scribbling with red marker over the painted canvas.

I guess a little 'redecorating' never hurt anybody.

The clock on the wall opposite the double bed tells me its 9:30. I've still got a while; Jimenez doesn't shut up shop until 12 at least, I'll go at ten-ish. That'll give me some time to scope around see if there's an alligator farm anywhere near. Have I mentioned I love Naples?

"Dex I'm just going to shower, don't leave till I'm done." Lila calls from the bathroom, the doors open and I have a wonderful view of her completely naked body. Not that it bothers me much; I still don't have much sexual desire for Rita let alone my psychopathic sponsor.

She takes about 20 minutes in the shower, but when she re-enters the room I can't help but think that she looks no different from before. I get the N.A drill, something about removing yourself from triggering situations but to be perfectly honest I never really listen at meets, when you're not a drug addict there very boring. I depart already wearing my kill outfit, minus the plastic of course. When Lila saw what I changed into she raised an eyebrow then waved it off, okay I must admit it is quite different to what I normally wear, but I wear it from functionability and cameo, Neon shirts don't work great when you're trying to be inconspicuous I've found.

I reach the bar at about 10:15, I drive but I don't think that'll be a problem; I'm not going to drink.

I open the door to the bar, It looks like a locals place considering the glares I'm receiving but I've never been one prone to awkwardness. And then there's him.

Jimenez.

He's behind the bar cleaning a filthy glass with an even dirtier cloth, I would say he looks older than the file photo but that seems to point out the obvious. It's been three decades after all. I wonder if he'll recognise me.

I order a drink, a beer, not that I plan to drink it. I have to be sharp, ready. I'm excited; this is going to be my first 'Brian Kill'. I still have the plastic wrap room of course; it's my solace but this feeling… freedom coursing through my black veins like fire, washing my flesh in concord.

It's time.

And I've only sipped my beer six times in what? Two and a half hours

I look up, he's staring, I smile.

"Finish the beer. Closing was ten minutes ago" he growls at me, I guess my staring is slightly un-nerving.

Whoops.

"I'm visiting from Miami you know, not really a social visit, most business, but who said you can't enjoy business." I grin "How's Naples?"

He looks really impatient now, just about to blow his top, I love my effect on people.

"What do you really what?" he asks snappily.

I pretend to think, "Well, the sponsor thinks I'm here to get over some bad blood but honestly? I'm just here to spill it."

Jimenez really looks at me now my genial smile replaced with a rather Brian-esque smirk.

"Oh, you don't recognise me do you? I wasn't really expecting you to, it's been 30 years after all but it's still a shame, my name's Dexter. Moser."

His tanned skin pales to a pink grey.

Oh. So he does remember.

"GET OUT!" He's grabbed the baseball bat from behind the bar and is holding it protectively in front of his body.

Pathetic.

"No" I say, still perfectly calm and icey.

He swings the bat.

I duck and jump over the bar.

I stab him with the needle

He's unconscious.

Have I mentioned you have to be strong to do this? A 180 pound man is no easy lift, or drag for that matter.

The shack with the plastic sheeting is 10 minutes up the road in the car so I lob the sack of shit in the boot and drive off.

I play Paco De Lucia in the car with me as I drive, I find it calming. I like nights like tonight, the moon is full and gleeful, the dark passenger is in control and I have a gagged and bound body in the back.

Yes, every thing's going perfectly.

The shack's visible now, the light from within glowing through the translucent film placed on the insi…

Wait.

I never leave the lights on.

It tends to attract people.

Shit.

Shit.

SHIT!

No! This can't be happening. This night was going so fucking perfectly!

And the half hour dose of M-44 gunna run out soon.

Shit.

I slam the car in to reverse and back up the road as fast as I can. A handbrake turn and I'm speeding away down the grotty road like a madman.

'_Mmhump'_

OH GOD!

I pull over that the side of the road, yank Jimenez out the truck and slit his throat.

He chokes and splutters as much as the duct tape will allow and I watch energized as his black eyes drain of life.

I collapse on my knees, the orgasmic thrill of the kill pulsing through every fibre of my body; I throw back my head, my breathing deep and wallow in the feeling.

Pure and utter bliss.

Even the hot stick blood I'm smothered in can ruin this for me.

Brian's right.

This is better.

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***Cough.* Review. *Cough.***

**Not that I'm hinting or anything. :D**


	14. Metamorphosis

**Now see I feel like really bad. This chapter has taken an absolute age and I'm so sorry.** **I really wish i could upload and write quicker but well I only really have a vague idea where this story is going, and college work is an utter bitch. :/ **

**Disclaimer: I think of the plot but that's it. Really. Sorry Dexter isn't mine. Damn it.**

**PS.: I know a lot of you don't like Lila but please she does play a reasonably large role in this, but it is slightly different from the season, please take solace in that. **

**PSS: I love you guys, all the reviews and the adds are utter awesome. **

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I can feel the leathery wings of my other self unfurl in the darkness. My passenger's happy, I can feel it, honest to fucking god FEEL it, not an echo, not an empty shell of happiness that usually shapes my face; real. I can feel the weight of the steel chains become lighter as they slither away like oil on water, it's glee as it's finally allowed to inhibit ever inch of my tender flesh, searing through my nerves like an electric current, pulsing pleasure to my fingertips. Brian told me about freedom, relived his memories of the people he used as objects, but I never got it. Not until now.

It's…fun.

'Spontaneity is good once in a while' Brian had said.

I've missed so much.

'Chain saws, knifes, scalpels, even baseball bats!' He ranted on about.

This is going to be hard to explain to Lila though.

I went to the bar ready in my kill outfit, so didn't bother to bring another shirt. I should really consider doing so. I'm almost drenched in semi-coagulated blood, the crimson of the fluid staining my usually olive unit ruddy brown, Not to mention I'm sticky, very sticky and without the adrenaline coursing through my body the blood is starting to look and feel rather icky.

The clock on my dash says 2:00 am, shouldn't be any police driving round this time of night let alone in a backwater place like this. I should be able to get back to the hotel okay; I do cover the inside of my car with saran wrap though, I don't really want people asking why there's a huge pool of dried blood on the seat, and frankly I don't think I can answer that without getting whacked with a federal offence.

I reach the hotel, safe and sound thank god, all the lights are out which is good as you don't really want a spotlight on you gleaming the blood on you like stars.

But at least our rooms light is out, I really hope I can sneak to the bathroom without getting caught so I can avoid the whole 'why are you covered head to toe in blood thing.'

I turn the door knob, the mechanism clicking loudly in the silence; the wooden door swinging open with a squeak. Silence. I tip toe into the room past our beds and touch the metal of the bathroom door handle. I suddenly feel like a teenager sneaking in after curfew, a slightly psychopathic and homicidal teen but one nonetheless. And I feel exactly like a caught teenager when the lights suddenly switch on.

Shit.

I hear a gasp.

The tension in the room is palpable, just like when Deb found out about Brian. The apprehension between us screams like a cat on fire

Lila breaks the 5 inch thick ice.

"Shit Dex." she says softly," what happened?"

Well you know that bloke we came here to confront? Well I did. We exchanged harsh words then he miraculously ended up in an alligator farm chopped into little pieces.

Yeah? No.

I consider my options.

She's going to find out anyway isn't she? I come back covered in icy, thick blood with what I imagine is a rather still out of it look on my face, and try to sneak to the bathroom to wash it off. I turn my blood splattered head slowly, the rest of my bloody body following suit.

"What does it look like?" I say because frankly whatever I could say I would be worse.

Because honestly? I don't think there's any other way to describe this, is there?

"It looks Dexter like you're smothered in blood." She stares at me, the slight caveat in her tone just daring me to lie to her. "Is there a reason for you to be so or did you just decide to tip it all over yourself?" Silence rings again, my mood entirely drained of its previous glee, my face its usual plastic mask, Lila mirrors me. We end up in twisted dead-lock, the light pitter-patter of rain on the flat ceiling the only sound in the room apart from our shallow breathing.

Lightning shatters our stalemate.

"Are you going to tell me Dexter? Or are you just going to fucking ignore me!" Lila tone rises in agitation.

I decide to ignore her.

Another flash of lightning,

Her nails dig into the flesh of my shoulder.

Its sinew wings consume me and I lose all semblance of control.

It all happens too fast, like a light switch in my head, but I soon become aware that it's my forearm thrusting Lila into the back wall by her neck simultaneously zeroing her precious oxygen supply. I let her go; I stare in shock at my left arm.

"Wha-what was that?" Lila asks stuttering slightly.

"I don't know," I drag my gaze to Lila's, a bare foot away and swallow. "That's never happened to me before."

We stay quiet for another minute

"What happened Dexter? What happened with Jimenez?" she's more confident now. She starts to dig the knife in driving it in slowly, taunting me with the gleam of the steel against my flushed skin.

"I…I...I killed him."

I hear a soft gasp; I ignore it.

The words hit me like a freight train travelling at 100mph. I killed a man without protection, without a safety net. Without my dear plastic.

I was even 5 minutes away from getting caught and yet… all I could do was smile and empty his carotids.

What's happening to me?

I'm changing. Dear Dexter's Dark metamorphosis. I'm losing grasp of the solid foundations of me. Big brother Brian is slowly dismantling Dirty Harry's old rusty scaffolding and replacing it with his own new shiny black ones.

You know what though?

I can't bring myself to care.

Harry's rules were never mine; He installed them in me, and then used me as a weapon of his own means.

Without him I wouldn't have a code. I'd be free to dice, dissect, dismember as I please. I wouldn't be seen as a fucking vigilante in the ignorant press

I could kill Lila.

It would be easy; snap of the neck, knife to base of the skull then twist? She could be dead in 10 seconds.

I finally get Brian.

I really do.

I open the door to the shower and walk in shutting it behind me. I don't even spare a backward glance. I don't need to.

Lila won't say anything.

I'm not stupid; I know how she looked at Brian; visa versa.

She's interesting.

It would be a shame to leave her corpse to the crocs

Besides I need an alibi for this weekend don't I?

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**Another chapter done. **

**don't worry we're back in miami next chapter. :) **

**please fave / review. they make me smile.**


	15. Nemesis

**Hey... I deserve a slap. I know. I've caused you to wait ages and to be honest I don't think this is a great chapter. at all. so i'm so fucking sorry. :(**

**Writer's block fucking blows.**

**+ well the Art courseworks a bummer too. **

**Disclaimer: I own the plot. :) nothing else :(**

**PS. still welcome to slap me.**

**PSS: Hi, this is the revised version of Chapter 15, I tried to make it more dextery. :) i hope it's better. This is my second attempt at a revision as ff deleted my just finished revison last night. :( i cried and started again. I hope this is better.**

**PSSS: I'm going to the USA for 10 Days at the end of the month so I won't be able to update between the 29th of march and the 6th of april. :( But i'm going to Washington D.C and New York which i'm so psyched about ! XD I'm going to an American High school as well. :) How awesome!**

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Decomposition.

The process by which organic material is broken down into simpler forms of matter.

You can liken it to speaking to a child.

Birds and bees? Ring any bells

Explaining sex to a child is relatively simple. Penis + vagina = sex

When you're older it's far more complicated.

Sex is like politics.

Knowing who to screw and when.

And who not to.

Apparently I should have stayed over the weekend with Rita. And using the excuse that you went out of town with your rather beautiful N.A sponsor isn't a good idea either. Of course her mind when straight to sex especially when I mentioned we shared a room. That's why I am now girlfriendless and about to be utterly pissed upon by my sister when she finds out.

I head to work, Doakes following me of course, I've gone back to smiling and waving, it annoys him so I can at least get a tingle of dark amusement in the mornings. The car drive is typical, homicidal drivers blaring their horns, me adding mine to the chorus with rigour. Even the coffee from the vendor outside is perfectly normal. In fact the whole day is normal.

Well it is until Deb storms into our apartment a face like thunder. Her normally wavy brown hair wild, her chocolate eyes smouldering black in her anger.

Here we go.

"Dexter? What the fuck? Guess what? Huh? I've just got off the fucking phone with your EX-Girlfriend Rita. Now care to explain why she broke down telling me about some English woman you spent the weekend with? Out of town? Where the fuck you go? Naples?"

My quicksilver tongue solidifies, Naples? Really? Could'nt she have just said paraquay?

"umm…" I murmer it lowly, the truth would really not be a good idea right now.

She twitches slightly.

"WHO IS SHE? I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD DEX!" I'm surprised her voice hasn't given out through her growling, a woman's voice shouldn't have the ability to get so low.

It's disconcerting actually.

So I'm surprised when she starts laughing, and I mean full on hysterics bubbling out of her like steam out of a kettle.

"Oh Christ Dex, I don't even know who you are anymore. With Rudy and then Doakes then this. It's like you have a fucking secret life that no one even knows about. Hell you could be the fucking butcher and no one would know."

My heart stops.

Shit.

Panic mode.

That was a Freudian slip, I know it. Deb's suspicious, she has to be, unconsciously maybe but ...

I stop myself, I can't go into shock. Mustn't.

Breath Dex, Come on.

A pathetic sob echoes from behind me.

Curled up on the sofa, Deb hugs the sofa hugging a cushion flooding it with her tears. She's muttering.

"Why? Wh…y can't … it ju…st go ba...ck to when I...I was your only … family? It was so fucking simple!"

Sighing I fall on to the couch next to her, grab her by the shoulders and let her sob onto my shirt.

"She's no one Deb." I whisper to her, "Nobody. Just nobody." I don't know how long I was sat there but eventually I heard her sobs slowly turn into soft snores.

Shit.

I knew that my relation to Brian would screw some stuff up but I never thought my sister would lose faith in me.

I guess serial killers retain their naivety.

Damn.

Why does Deb actually have to be good at her job? I mean if La Guerta was properly on this, I'd be off scot free and some poor sod from Ohio would be behind bars for my crimes.

Now I have a task force sown to my ass, withwith my favourite serial killer hunter as head surgon.

How can a few days go to shit so quickly?

…

The next few days pass uneventfully.

Deb apologizes to me, saying something about how it wasn't fair of her to accuse me in such because of Brian… yada yada and the fact I must be working through some sort of mental trauma.

Well she was kind of close.

The office is almost back to normal now, well donuts are still Vince's responsibility but other than that? Back to normal.

Well, actually the picture of Brian they still have up in the board room is still slightly awkward when I have to go in, our physical resemblance amplified now. I still get a few odd looks.

They're the smart ones.

I'm just glad there aren't too many of them.

But, i'm now even more over looked most of the time, Vince gets most of the forensic work coming in.

I do cause a nice scene, don't I?

It's odd though.

Lundy's not here, usually he's already returned from his prerequisite cucumber sandwiches by now, although on that thought he's probably off with Deb somewhere… I don't want to know.

It's a half hour before visiting time begins, half an hour to avoid Doakes. He's becoming far more tenacious with his stalking, he's even switched cars a couple of times. I need to end him, just not yet.

I go to visit Brian on my own this time, It's been a while since I've done so. I'm usually with Lila now but she's busy and frankly I just need to see him, to tell him, to enlighten him to my newly freed self.

Oh and the whole Deb thing.

I think Brian likes the arrangement though; he gets to both eye Lila and tell me off for not managing to kill Doakes yet. I swear his flesh will lose oxygen and rapidly putrefy. Soon. But right now vivisection is out the question, I really don't need anymore suspicion thrown my way.

They prepare you, begin sucking the soul and personality out of everything the very moment your foot steps onto the drab heavy duty carpet, they force you to walk through dull gray corridors, various offices branching from the main stem the lone distraction. They blend together, the doors, the grey and the brown.

It's one thing they do right.

It must be fun watching the most resiliant inmate crack and bow under the conformity, watch as life drains from there eyes like bloodied water down a sink.

I grin just thinking of it.

Someone strides out of visiting hall, It's a normal occurance, family often comes and goes.

Not this man.

My heart begins to beat as i reonize him, I try the doors.

I rattle them until finally a janitorial closet offers me solace.

I wouldn't normally do such a thing, but it would be bad news to be seen here by him. Of all people, Now.

His loafers pound floor as he walks past, a crack in the door hinge my only room for sight.

Shit.

That was close.

I gingerly open the door, looking to see if anyone is watching me overcome my 'moment' of insanity.

I stare after the man.

Lundy didn't see me.

Did he?

* * *

**Am I bad if i ask for a review?**

**probably. **

**oh well.**

**please?**


	16. Rule of Three

**Hi all, sorry for the long wait. This one just didn't want to come out. Eventually I lured it out with Easter eggs. :)**

**Again I don't think this is a great chapter but I think we're getting close to the last straight. :) maybe.**

**Oh and since LML did'nt sign in I'll reply to their review here.:** The 40 kills is only an estimate but in the 1st episode of season 5 Dexter himself said that he's seen 67 people die, so I tried to keep within those limits, although i agree with you, it does seem that it should be more.

**Btw I don't say it enough but i love you guys and all faves, reviews etc make me smile :)**

**Ps. POV change warning. ;)  
**

* * *

Restrictions are good things,

Mostly.

Like… preventing paedophiles from staying in an area with children in.

That's good.

It means there all under a bridge.

Makes it easy for me.

A new Kill.

I really shouldn't, I know with Lundy and all but god… I so need this.

To feel the rippling of my flesh giving way to its wings, the tissue thin sinews morphing and contorting to sculpt my gristly wings. To feel the simultaneous heat and ice of adrenaline stabbing through my veins… yes; I really do.

The bridge isn't hard to find, besides everybody wants pedo's dead and with my adoring fans following my dutifully planned and evidence-less string of homicides they'll just sign it off as a sloppy suicide. I don't even know my new victims name or what he looks like for a matter of fact. Just that someone's going to die tonight.

I've just a backpack with me. Spray bleach, luminol.

My knife's in my boot.

Sure, not my normal style but really? Who's even going to look in my direction? A perfectly normal 30 something year old average looking, average height? No, I'm perfectly normal.

I could easily pass as a tourist, a resident, a child molester? The one time in my life I hope so.

Tuttle's bridge, my arrival imminent.

Ahh. Can't you just sense my blood thirsty excitement?

I school my features, blend in, it's not hard people wander from here almost constantly.

The gravel beneath the bridge displaces under my weight, crunches, but it's almost silent, it always is.

I'm not in charge anymore. 'It' has full reign, wholly filling my entire soul cavity with its blackness, turning my blood to ink, the ink dilating my eyes drenching me in the ultimate pleasure.

It's time.

A man's near the far end of the bridge, Alone away from the fire pit. White, thin, short.

Easy.

That one thing I've learnt from the genius mind of my sibling serial killer,

Easy.

It's rather obvious really, I'm learning from Brian's mistakes.

Don't make it personal.

So I'm not.

I see him, my eagle eyes picking him out like a hawk a mouse. He's mine. I slip over to within 2 meters of my pray, the sheath of silver in my hand melding with my skin, melting and deforming my flesh, to become one with my weapon. The tension is building, I can't stand it, the release I yearn for it, grasp for it, and need it.

I get it.

It leaps and I'm brought alone with it, my bones crack and creak under its almighty power, and when the knife comes down, IT explodes leaving me alone in my glory, my exhausted limbs heavy with delight and a deep burning ache. It ripples through me like waves, each one ebbing yet just as strong as the last. How could I have not felt this desire before, this release?

I leave him there. They might find him, call it in but they'll never know it was me.

Another tip I've picked up from Brian. Cut the vocal cords, then they can't scream.

I stand there in a haze soaking up the magnificence of the drying display of blood searing my clothing. I stand there for what seems like an age, just wallowing; the co coughpheny of jeers and laughter snap me back.

But that's just it,

I'm not alone.

Not really, less than 50 meters away, child molesters, paedophiles, maybe even a few murderers. I rush my clean up, it's too late, 1:00 now, deb will wonder where I am, she'll tell Lundy.

What am I doing?

Careless, fucking careless.

But you know what?

I love it.

* * *

"Umm, guys"

At a police briefing that is not a good sentence.

"I think that..." What Deb?

She signs and rubs her face into her hand.

" I think the perp has forensic experience."

… shit.

That's the offices reaction too.

Utter uproar fluctuates in the briefing room, its personal. Police officer maybe, forensic geek looks more likely. It is spiralling towards me. I already have a few looks shot my way, Deb will chew them out later but I'm not sure if I want to see her face when she realises they were right.

Only la Guerta looks on unimpressed.

"And why pray tell do you say that officer Morgan?" her tight eyebrow managing to send a look of utter distain to my loving sister. I'm definitely flying La Guerta's flag today. For all her faults, she always seems to fuck things up in my favour.

Deb's face colours, the Miami tan descending into Scarlett flush as she tempers her anger.

"Because lieutenant… do you remember the José Jones case?

Oh yes that one.

"Yes officer Morgan, The bay harbour butcher is our biggest case right now so yes." A few titters ring around while my sister's face reddens again.

Deb glares but continues regardless.

"Toxicology results just got back. There are traces of luminol on the black garbage bag, so I sent off for samples from all the bags to be tested, Guess what? Luminol on all of them. "

Fuck.

La Guerta can't seem to argue with it, her lips pursed and right eye twitching slightly she relents

"…Alright, I'll let the captain know. Every one, let's keep up the good work. Next briefing's on Tuesday unless someone's found something urgent. Okay? Good. "

Her heels click as she hits linoleum, the pattern echoing as various sheep follow her example. Whispers fester, one of us?

Surely not?

I should probably clean my boat just in case anyway.

* * *

_I've never felt this before. _

_Never felt much to be perfectly honest but this?_

_I'm proud._

_I'm proud of him._

_My brother_

_Dexter_

_Dexy_

_My little brother._

_It was'nt that hard really, sneaking under his skin, breaking him out of his coded cage._

_Not really_

_Blood is our bond _

_And it will always. Always be thicker than water._

_That's why I'll always come first, it might take awhile for him to realise it, but when it boils down to it. It's always me, not that pathetic excuse for a sister, not his cushy job or dearest darling girlfriend. Me._

_Why?_

_I've always been there, and always will be._

_Mom told me that, before she was a mere shard of flesh of course._

You're going to have a new little brother to play with soon.

_I remember the good ol' days, of playing out in the sun, growing a lemon tree in the back yard, laughing playing ball _

Be nice to him

_A nasty man turning up looking for dad. Him breaking the white wooden door into our home, Three more equally scaring looking me following him in. Shouting from the men, screaming from mummy, Dexy and me being yanked by our skinny legs and thrown into the dark trunk of a black car. _

I'll always love you

_The light from the open door of the shipping container illuminating to blood soaked wall, Dexy hiding behind me. Me behind Mom. _

_Dexter couldn't see, but I could. Close enough to hear the ripping of muscle tissue over the roar of the chainsaw. It was like standing under a water fountain. A really red one._

Never forget that.

_But then he took him. That bastard took him, and I was sent to the foster system. Not that that lasted long. _

_The neighbour's cat was such juvenile play mate._

You know what to do if I ever anything ever happens to me

_I got to play with the big boys soon enough._

_I made so many friends, _

_so did my shiv._

Don't you sweetie?

_But I was good, I got out. Killed a Dr. Rudy Cooper; It wasn't too hard to get a new intern ship._

Yes mommy..

_Specialized in Prosthetics, My hooker hobby a side project._

Look after him Biney

_Until I got his attention._

Look after Dexy_._

_Now He's in trouble and I have to be there._

_To take care of him._

Yes mommy.

_Always._

* * *

**So... review?**_  
_


	17. Time's Running

Greetings. :D one word... exams. Sorry guys but on the upside I think this story is almost done.

Shit's kinda hit the fan with this one. :D

I hope you like it.

PS. I love you guys. epically. :D

* * *

"I own you"

Provoking physical violence against me is the quickest way to get rid of Doakes yes, but now my head hurts, nonetheless on with the plan.

I reach angel's desk before I find myself on the floor, a 200 pound man beating down on me. I'm sure Masuka can make sick joke out of that somehow.

I push him off me and scrabble to the desk, eyes wide and afraid, well… I smuggle the smirk that threatens to dress my lips.

Too. Fucking. Easy.

Angel grabs him and holds him back; La Guerta puts him on administrative leave, I get glared at and he walks away.

Swatting off my empathetic colleagues I rush back to my office, ever since Deb decided to grace the office with the annoyingly accurate assessment of the Bay harbor butcher's identity, I've been under heighten suspicion. Being the sibling of the most notorious serial killer that Miami has seen in a long while is not that great for me, so I thought, why not put it on Doakes? Kills two birds with one stone doesn't it?

Deb trundles into my space. Uninvited of course but that's Deb for you.

"Oh Dex! Shit I never realized the mother fucker had gotten that bad. Shit Dex." Well at least the typical eloquence is there.

"It's alright Deb, really. But I'm pretty much done for the day anyway, you think the lieutenant will mind me bunking the rest of the day?" Just the perfect amount of questioning tone and I'm there. Besides, La Guerta loses her teeth when it comes to me.

"Fuck yeah Dex; don't worry about another mother-fucking thing. Get your ass home, okay?" I love the fact even a question is a statement with my sister.

"Sure thing. "

I get to the elevators without a huge noise; around the office I'm not great at staying undetected anymore.

"… true you guys have surveillance over the Internet access? Because if you do I swear to god I can explain the shemales"

What?

"Damn he must have found out about the shemales"

Shit. Now Lundy's monitoring our internet?

Shit.

He's on to me.

Has to be.

He visited Brian, why would he other than to dig up info on me?

…My other sibling's not a great option there.

No more hacking on the work computer then.

I can deal with that…

But he's getting closer, too close, my family is not really hidden anymore but most just pity me wouldn't it be nice if the FBI's resident serial killer hunter felt that pity too? But alas… Doakes is more than suspicious, not really a problem around the office anymore but still an issue.

I wander to my car nodding genially to my fellow co workers, my picture perfect smile plastered to my face; it only lasts till I can drop it in my car.

Murder without restriction is a strange thing, I feel more human now but in the same aspect less so. I get it, not sex, not yet anyway but that throbbing, heavy feeling in your gut, the rabid, snarling pulsation ripping through your veins that come with it. Why even the most pathetic of the human race yearn for the touch, the completion.

My phone buzzes. It's common courtesy to at least look at the text, so I do.

…

It's off to Lila's then.

* * *

This is going to be hard to explain.

Well not hard, just…

Awkward.

I could tell the truth but that would make things… umm strained.

I mean Lila's going to have to sleep with me; Deb has the other room.

I still have a few of Rita's clothes round here Lila could use I guess.

"Dex… where can I dump my stuff? It's all bur… Oh"

Shit, Deb's home.

"Yeah, Oh's about fucking right."

Damn it. Kill me now.

Well to be fair to Deb, Lila is naked from the waist up.

She follows Deb's eyes, her pink lips forming an 'oh' of realization,

She brings her arm across her chest, the left hanging by her side.

"Pardon my tits"

My darling Deb, her eye is twitching, the oh so common vermilion hue redding her tanned face, I can see her quashing a retort; Her mouth pinches as if she's eaten a really bad key lime pie.

She turns on her heel, storms up to me and glares

"Care to explain this Dickwad!"

I still don't understand why I'm afraid of my seriously small other sibling. I'm a serial killer aren't I? But I guess in these circumstances it doesn't really matter.

"Err... this is Lila we're umm… we're…"

"Dating. We met at Rampalos and we just started talking." Lila interjects.

There are sometimes I think I can feel really love for people.

This is one of those times.

"Yeah, few weeks ago now." I add flicking a dazzling smile in Lila's direction.

My dashing smile seems to work; Deb calms, her pallor returns to normal.

"Fine. I'm going to move in with Lundy then. "

No. No .No don't do that … please?

Shit.

"You can stay, please don't feel I've pushed you out" I beg, I almost want to kneel and plead. Anything to stop her for staying with my hunter.

Her face softens

"No, it's alright, I should start to get back on my feet after… yeah so I'll get Frank to help me, I'll pack up after my shift. Thanks for letting me stay Dex," she starts to open the door, "try not to fuck up anymore yeah?" The door shuts behind her.

Dammit.

…

"So, my stuff?"

* * *

"Socio, heard you got a new lady in your life."

Ahh yes, since Deb's shack up with Lundy, rumors of my 'exotic' love life have been flying like wildfire, most of the time it's just Masuka and constant vampire references but now it looks like Angel's going to get his dig in. Oh how I'm looking forward to today's late shift.

"Ugh, does everyone know?" I plead to my friend as we step into the elevator.

He tips his hat and smothers a snort, his hand reaching to touch his mouth.

"Oh my friend, you're the center of the rumor mill this week, well to be honest you have been since ya know. " Yes I know.

"But I'm nothing like him." I lie

"Yeah, the office types? Their job sucks, they make it their aim to ruin everyone else's, I wouldn't worry about it. Any way did you hear? Lundy is going over our cases related to the BHB. I know it's just his job but still it's not like any of us are the killer. I'll see ya later."

Old cases?

I only did the blood work on four of the BHB cases, Angel's worked on five and Doakes more than that. Surely Super FBI can't suspect me for four cases can he?

I need coffee, badly, in an 'if I don't get any I'm going to kill someone' way. Lila drinks way more coffee than I think should be physically possible, usually draining to pot before I even make it to the kitchen, hence why one little serial killer is teetering on a knife edge of annoyance and murderous intent. I know that I should be more worried about covering my tracks, cleaning up any excesses etc, but my mind doesn't work without coffee- or killing people but I don't need that on a daily basis. I can see it, the blessed machine, my savior in arms, my strong hands grasp my cup like it's a new born child, I place it on the surface while turning to seize the coffee, the scalding brown liquid flowing into the cup like a Dali masterpiece flowing on canvas. Ahh, Perfection.

"Tea?"

Great, I turn for the pure reason of being polite because trust me, if I had a knife Lundy would pinned to the floor by it right now.

I nod at him raising my almost full cup of coffee, he nods back.

He pours some anyway. He's trying to throw me off balance, show that I don't have the power to say no to him.

"How about some sesame crackers to go with that?"

So I'll say yes to everything.

"I'd love some."

"Oh. Sorry. Guess I ate them all."

Asshole.

He moves around the small room with an air of ownership, he didn't come in here for tea. He came to talk. To me. I struggle to hide my smirk, he may be suspicious but he really doesn't have a real idea, no one does.

Fine.

I'm up for a chat.

"So" he says nonchalantly, "you worked firsthand on, what, four of the cases related to the Bay Harbor investigation?"

"I believe so." I reply casually sipping my gloriously black coffee.

"Your reports were a real pleasure to read. Concise, meticulous. I appreciate that. "

Flattery. Tick

"Thank you, it's nice for the recognition sometimes." Well at least my answer's honest.

There is a lull in the conversation, I don't aim to break it.

"Does your sister prefer meat or fish?"

Wait, what? That it? Are my murders not interesting enough now? I feel slightly insulted.

Lundy must interpret my expression as confusion,

Now it's him time to smirk

"Don't have yet another one tucked away do you?"

It takes all my self control to keep my jaw wired to the rest of my skull. That's shooting for the heart if I don't know it.

It takes me a few seconds but my mask slips on easily enough again.

"No. just Debra"

"And Brian?" The genial smile still sitting comfortably on his face

"Yes."

He nods and turns away.

"He's very polite, well spoken, and funny even."

"Oh?" I really don't have much to say to that.

"But you knew that already didn't you?"

Crap.

I run a tan hand through my wiry light brown hair.

"Oh." Let's change tactics then.

"Yeah, I've visited him a few times. It's not a crime."

"No, just… odd. I can understand someone visiting a relative in prison but you? Correct me if I'm wrong but you found out about your relationship after Deb was almost murdered? After you saved her?"

"Yeah"

"But that's not even true is it? You knew about him over the table, over the cellophane and the plastic sheeting? When Deb woke up, you stopped him from stabbing her. I'm thankful, I really do like her."

Deep breaths Dexter.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I squeak through gritted teeth.

"Oh. Okay, but why else would you know where they were? Very obscure little neighborhood… Meat or fish."

"Meat." I bark out.

"Oh good, good."

I hold my composure until he leaves.

I rush back home.

This late shift is so not happening tonight.

* * *

_Oh shit._

_Oh my God. _

_Fuck…_

* * *

**so... review?**_  
_


	18. Basket case

**Hi,**

**The full chapter is up now, oh my gosh we're so near the end. :D I love you guys.  
**

* * *

It's amazing how quickly someone life can change isn't it?

Change for the better, falling in love, marriage, or maybe a shot gun wedding if the baby came before the rings but change... it's a good thing right?

No.

My life was perfect, well not perfect but as close as anyway, A beautiful girlfriend, two loving almost step-children, a good steady job -let's face it, when murders stop in Miami the world would have already ended, - a happy, contented if loud and obnoxious foster sister.

What do I have now?

Ha, jack is the eloquent answer.

A couple of months,

All it takes.

You know the expression? It snowballs out of? Ha, that's a lie,

More like a snowball falls on you head, crushing you, slowly melting away to revel what you would die to keep hidden.

Although not a complete lie, my life is snowballing out of control... only the lynch pin was slightly larger than the average snowball.

And a lot more murderous.

And maybe slightly more human.

Maybe.

If you met Brian you would have your doubts too.

He's my devil on the shoulder to harry, my use to be angel.

But he's been replaced by Lila, Lila, well she not exactly an angel herself.

So I'm between a rock and a hard place.

Maybe I'm a masochist.

Ha that would be great wouldn't it, another one of dear debonair Dexter's kinks.

Murder and Masochism. Great headline that would be.

Shame really, I like this notoriety, the anonymous Bay harbour Butcher out to commit real justice. Well mostly, my most recent crimes have not been to my usual standard. I don't even know the last man's name. Pity really. I can't search the police database without a name... well I can, but computer usage is still being monitored so illegal hacking is currently a no-no.

I guess I can cope.

Besides Doakes is pretty much out of the way now.

Brian thinks I deserve the title of 'proper' psychopath now, cute kind of distinction really.

"Oi, come on, pay attention now, it's a fricken' miracle that I'm being let outside with you in the first place so come on keep up."

In all fairness wandering around a abandoned basketball court surrounded by double layers of razor topped barbed wire fencing isn't exactly my first impression of outside, but It'll have to do.

"What did do? Fuck someone up top? If I'm let outside it's in a 5 by 5 play pen, now were wandering round regular rec."

I smile, by god it took some delicate maneuvering and pretty much all my due favors exploited. But this isn't going to be a conversation for other ears.

My companion raises their eyebrow.

"Alright, you've gone round the bend. Tell Big brother Brian why we're drifting through a derelict old court?"

Oh how I love his quips, I may be hearing them more soon… or less depending on jail space I suppose.

"Lundy is on to me. No I mean properly on to me, He knows. He doesn't have any prove but he Knows."

His face stills, calm before the storm.

"Oh."

Yeah.

Its silence between us for all of 10 seconds, it's contemplative, peaceful.

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" It's the vulgarity that hits me first, the violent mood swing second. I glare at him grip his arms with a vicious grip.

"Shut. The fuck. Up. NOW!" we glower cruelly toward each other, each others fingernails excavating sibling flesh.

"HEY! You two!"

"Yes officer?" we snap our carefully formed prosthetic faces on, genially smiling at the suspicious officer in question. Even from 5 meters away I can see his apprehensive eyes but he brushes it off. Good. I so do not need this.

We turn away like nothing happened, because really? Nothing did.

"How did you get in this mess? Well apart from the obvious. Such a fucking good two shoes you are, Mr. 'Oh I only kill bad people'"

'Fucking useless serial killer', he mutters lowly after his earlier tirade peters out.

I roll my eyes, it feels obvious that I care for my brother deeply but sometimes I really do want to stab him equally deeply in the chest.

" I'm serious here you know, I don't really want to end up In a 6 by 6 prison cell, unlike someone I know." I cut a cold glare his way.

His lips creep up at the corners,

"Ouch, that hurt." Almost believable, He's good.

Again silence descends,

"What should I do?"

"I don't know Dex."

Our mood now sombre we stop wandering and he grasps my shoulder comfortingly,

"Destroy everything"

* * *

I run back to work, it's late but still viable, if anyone asks I can just say I forgot a case I was going to work on tonight. Well it was kind of true. I wouldn't be so much as working, more so … deleting. But as an excuse, it was perfectly passable.

I didn't need to worry though, no one stopped me everyone is preoccupied with the bay harbor butcher case,

Oh,

How ironic.

It takes me all of ten minute to destroy all of the work I have built up over the years, pity but a necessary evil.

Next the car, darling's been good to me but can't take any more chances,

I drive to a gas station half a mile away from the apartment

I find a payphone , call the number Brian gave me.

"George habla"  
"vengar"  
"correcto, ahora, ¿qué quieres."  
"rastrear la llamada, hay un auto aquí, deshacerse de ella .."

"¿Por qué diablos debo hacer como usted dice?"  
"Brian"  
"... Diez minutos?"  
"cinco".

He'll know what car it is; the car is unlocked, and snuck round the alleyway.

And even if he doesn't? It'll still be on a boat to Mexico by morning.

I stroll home.

I'm calm now, only a few more things to get rid of and then a nice one way trip south.

Not to hell I hope.

It doesn't take me long to get home, the view over the water really is quite beautiful tonight, the moon silhouetting the palms and draining everything of colour. A perfect peaceful night.

The key of the door slides in slowly, the tumblers of the locks grind over each other as they adapt to the shape of the key, then a click, the door swings open. It's cool inside, the lowly hum of the air conditioner dancing in the background.

Ahh yes.

I don't bother turning on any lights, I shouldn't be staying here long any way.

Huh

That's odd, The AC isn't on.

Feeling slightly panicked I throw the front off the unit.

…

It's not there.

…

"Looking for this?"

* * *

He stared, just stared.

His hollow black eyes stared.

And I couldn't stand it.

Why didn't he speak?

He still had his tongue.

For the time being anyway.

No.

This wasn't right, it shouldn't be happening like this; I had a plan, a fucking plan!

But my slides.

They weren't there.

My life's work, my livelihood, my link to my own sordid past.

Gone.

And it was him.

He never even denied it.

…

I lost it.

It funny, I'm usually so composed,

But now Doakes is on my table

And all I can do is smile.

* * *

**I'll try and hurry up with the rest of the chapter.**

**And translation is here, sorry if it's wrong. blame Google translate. **

_**"George speaking"**_  
_**"avenge"**_  
_**"correct, now, what do you want."**_  
_**"trace the call, there's a car here, Get rid of it.."**_

_**"Why the fuck should i do as you say?"**_  
_**"Brian" **_  
_**"... ten minutes?"**_  
_**"five."**_


	19. Destroyed Protection

**Well, That was a productive week end. :D Hope you like it. :) The shit kinda hits the fan. **

**PS. I'm in Holland next week so not sure if i will be able to write much.**

* * *

He confronted me after work. Well I say confronted, He was sitting at my breakfast bar, my rosewood blood box lounging comfortably in his deep brown hands. We just stared at each other; it must have been at least 5 minutes until he spoke.

"Tut tut tut. Someone's been a naughty boy, haven't they? Follow in your brothers footsteps or did he follow in yours?" He spoke calmly, too calmly but I just met his tone.

"We started at the same time, more or less. So, it begs the question. Why are you here? I'm dangerous. A serial killer. Aren't you going to arrest me?"

Tonight I thought. Tonight is the night he dies.

He thought different.

He laughed.

"You wouldn't kill me. I've seen all the butchers' victims. Serial killers have types, I'm not yours." He was smirking at me, finally acknowledging the truth.

He knew, all my dirty little secrets scattered from my protection.

No masks, No facades.

Only him and I.

Then.

Only me.

I smirked back at him.

"Branching out never hurt anybody."

His smirk faltered slightly, my face tightened.

I pounced.

My dark passenger ripped out of my chest and leapt onto the shocked man, I dug my obsidian claws into his flesh and throttled him.

He had no chance.

Glee bubbled within me as I felt his futile fight deaden, but he was down, we both knew it.

I grabbed the 200 pound man with divine ease and wrapped him in a shower curtain then a bed sheet and carried him outside. It was dark by then but I hurried anyway. I slung him in the mini-van, grinned at the sound his head made on the carpet cover metal of the floor and rammed myself into the front seat. I turned the ignition and drove.

* * *

_Beep_

_._

_._

_._

_Beep_

_._

_._

_._

_.Beep_

…

* * *

He's stirring now, a deep cut framing him right eye, the white and red a stark contrast to the burnt sienna of his flesh.

Doakes, my kryptonite.

I can't wait to make you squirm.

The shipping container. I find it fitting. Empty of bananas now, you can still see blood on the tarnished metal walls. Perfect. I find symbolism in this place, the place of my birth, my dark beginnings, a bathe in the blood of four people, one more person's blood on the wall couldn't hurt.

Or two?

It's not like I have much to lose anymore is it?

I mean come on, fucking Lundy knows, he has to… I mean? Really? Meat, fish?

Deb ?

Fish?

Shut up, it doesn't matter.

I'm going to make Doakes suffer.

Wallow and writhe in his agony. Make him scream until his throat is raw and bloody, cut his tongue out and make him scream again. Yes, a snarl seeps onto my wet, fleshy lips.

Tonight is the night.

* * *

"…Deb? We can't do tonight I'm really sorry."

"What the fuck do you mean we can't do tonight?"

"I've got things to do, pertaining to the case."

"Let me help then."

"…Fine"

"So… What were you doing Frank?"

* * *

"Dexter? Sweetie. You around?"

Lila stumbled into the kitchen, sleep only just de-clouding her conscience.

Chairs were slewed around the lino like they were mere pieces of paper, the shock cleared the haze and she ran for the phone.

"911, where's your emergency"

"8240 Palm Terrace, Apartment #10 B., I think my boyfriend has just been kidnapped. Please come... Please help... "

"Shit."

"Yeah, I second that."

Officers were dispatched to the home, but word soon got around that it belonged to one of their own.

The homicide dept. arrived a meagre 20 minutes after the original dispatched arrived.

"Who do you think did this?"

And

"Who the hell was that woman who called it in?"

Were the main questions chucked around.

"Hey," masuka popped up "has anyone seen Deb?"

He was answered with worried looks and negative nods.

* * *

"WHAT!"

"Look calm down Deb, I…"

"Surveillance?"

"I'm sorry. I really am but you have to admit…"

"But he's my brother!"

* * *

"Wakey wakey, sleepy head." Little babe is stirring. Oh how fun.

"Come on…" I sneer

"GET UP!" I slap him for good measure.

I can feel it, the dark passenger has been holding out for too long… far too long. I can feel it, the pulsating throb in the bottom of my stomach rising up to flood the rest of my body in utter calming bliss. Yes, I'm calm. A serenity.

'Err god.'

He broke it.

I slap him again, harder.

He's fully awake now.

"Oh my god."

"No no, just me."

He really looks at me now, fear, and deep seated horror. Seeing the real me at long last, refreshing.

"Yo...You're the butcher?" he stumbles over his sluggish tongue

My eye begins to twitch.

"I hate that name." I trace the contours of the face while speaking, the scalpel lightly hovering over the most delicate reaches.

He starts to tremble. A shake emanating from his core that spreads to his fingertips, more like convulsions actually,

I grip a knife from the make shift table and pin his hand down. Hs screams echo beautifully off the metal walls of the container.

Well, he's still at least.

"I don't appreciate your attitude." I couldn't care less to be honest but the power I have now, god, it's so thrilling, electrical sparks stunning my body into submission to the dark.

I can see his struggle to keep composure, futile but will amuse me for a minute or two.

"So… This. This is it?" He speaks calmly, but I see the fear in his eyes.

"Yes." My attempt at comfort only reaches monosyllabic words but, it'll do.

"But… But why, why me?"

I laugh, such an idiotic question, I certainly had more respect for the soon to be ex sergeant beforehand.

"Are you serious?" I assume he must be. "You know. Sure Lundy may suspect but you know. I can't deal with that now can I?"

He smiles slightly and tips his head back as far as the duck tape will let him. That's not right. Why is he doing that, he should be crying or screaming or at least calmly waiting for death?

"What?" I spit at him, rage boiling up in my stomach,

He looks at me solidly steely in the eyes, the almost black of his iris facing my bloody green.

"You don't think he has proof?" The voice so steady, He doesn't think I'll do anything? We'll see about that, such a cliché line but one that holds, true.

I cleaver his foot from his body.

Oh, YES! The screams, the hollers of pain, yes, yes! I can feel my body growing tight such ludicrous power shoots straight up my spinal cord, oh god, I so understand Brian now, playing with your food is so very much more fun.

I ask him very calm now,

"Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

He looks at me with comically wide eyes, I laugh.

"Sss…surveillance." He squeaks out,

I still.

"What! Tell me! NOW!" I cut him off below the knee for encouragement.

Another scream but that doesn't bother me now. I tourniquet his leg, I wouldn't want him dying on me now would i?

He's crying, Pathetic.

I slap him.

"Tell me."

I manage to make out the choked coughs.

Cameras,

Following me,

"Thank you, " I tell him. "I think that will do."

I get to work.

* * *

**Heylo, review?**


	20. Six

**Hello, This is the last chapter guys. :)I really do hope you like it. :) I really want to thank all of you who read, reviewed, faved this story, I can't believe it ever got finished. :) But I will be revising the other chapters so if you want to read the story again. :D *cough* hint! well it'll be better. :) **

**But anyways, :') a load of hugs to you guys, I can't believe your level of support. :)**

_**Bye. x**_

* * *

Cameras.

How nice.

I doubt anyone's got hold of anything REALLY incriminating.

At least not yet.

I'm sure Doakes got something though.

But he's dead. Oh that makes me feel so giddy to say that.

Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead!

The shipping container are cold now, the steel of the walls finally losing the ambient heat of the day; good thing too, bodies in Miami get quite ripe in such a short amount of time. Pity but I'll cope. I always have.

Cuba's hotter anyway.

And it's not like anyone can follow me there.

The wonders of fake ID's.

I start to dismember the rest of him; well not much was really left … but I do slice the head off at the axis. The expression of pain on his face is wonderful. His eyes, wide and afraid in his last moments, are still blood shot from the strain of the agony he endured, His pupils tiny pin pricks, the light no longer effective but shows the glaze of death in the deep mahogany iris'. His skin is littered with stains, tears and blood, the most delicious mix of fluid, drying; the salt glistens and the blood cracks and crumbles down his abused cheek. But the glee leaves me, it is replaced with awe as I begin to trace his torso with my blade, admiring both; he really was a fine specimen. The steel jolts over the convex ridges of his stomach leaving a fine trace of a line which will never bleed. I reach lower, the blade now just skimming the hip bone before I plunge it lower towards his upper thigh. So perfect, neat, pretty much bloodless. I take my time with him, it seems right. I pick up the hastened, leavened foot. Not as neat and perfect as the other cuts but not messy and I wrap. I tribute Brian, I make do with only saran wrap, plastic sheeting but the intent is there, I'm not the bay harbour butcher anymore, I've evolved now, grown, broken out of the shell that Harry formed for me.

I wrap the head last, close his eyes and reform the body, perfect again.

I feel whole at last, the routine right. My self is in my control, the dark passenger sated and calm.

The cleanup is finished, Doakes perfectly positioned on the table and the container has been shut.

I wander to the van thinking of the things to do before the dawn breaks. I must remember to send Rita a text, tell her that I'm sorry and that she'll never see me again; I turn on my phone, the cell bloody from my gloveless hands but no matter, I'm as good as gone, this was a final goodbye a completion of my life here in the land of my birth. My plans jipped temporarily but all is on track now.

The phone beeps into life

My hopes die.

27 voice messages, 56 missed calls, 124 unopened text messages.

It's over.

I smash my cell into the cement of the ground,

And don't bother looking at the messages,

No point changing out of the blood stained clothes now.

I won't be caught, I won't allow myself, I can't the code doesn't allow for it.

Rule no.1: don't get caught

The moonlight blackens the blood on my black cargos as I leave the metal of the container door behind me and skid the van over the remnants of the wretched mobile.

The smell of blood permeates the sticky Miami night as I climb nimbly into the previously pristine seat and drive

One more destination then.

Home.

I smash the gate with the tail of the van, admittedly a van isn't the best vehicle for high speeds run but alas, it will have to do; my other car half way across the gulf by now. I take the Fl-7-114 traffic would usually a problem but its midnight. Police, just the people I want to avoid, patrol this area though. It shouldn't be too much of a problem I'm almost halfway there, 25 minutes before I can step through into the only true home one last time. My stay won't be long, I was hoping to reminisce but that's not an option anymore. I'll be there just long enough to pick up my new identity as a deacon sent to carry out aid work. I'll be flying out of the country in two hours. They won't find me.

I do wonder how stupid the police are sometimes, 20% catch rate of murderers… honestly… well it was quite helpful.

I'm alone on the road. It's nice. Peaceful. It means I can move.

I should probably feel bad about stealing the minivan and the blood on the seat covers but I'm sure that with be the least of Rita's worries. I really did care for Astor and Cody, they reminded me of me. I liked that.

…

Sirens.

I manage to get to the lines of cedar before the police car pulls me over, not sure if it'll really matter if I get more jail time but I really don't want a car chase right now.

The cop who waddles to my car is the typical doughy donut munching sheriff dept. Fat, mid twenties, not a particularly hard… target. He's friendly though, his jovial voice squeaks in my sensitive ears wired and ready for the hunt.

"Hey mister, I know it's pretty empty round these parts but it's still not acceptable to be going 90 miles an hour on a road like this. Licence and registration, could you get out the car please."

I do, it's seems he's going to let me go actually. It's too late to work and all that, besides who has to know.

"Hey."

"Wait. You're him!" Shit

"You're on the news…Is that blood?"

"Dext….."

It's rather difficult to finish a sentence choking on your own blood. I keep his eyes as there widened state loses consciousness, my face impassive as he falls to his knees slowly fading shock engraved on his whitening face. I tilt my head as my face contorts into a smirk at the spurting slowing and starting to stream. My face covered with sweat and a downpour of fresh, warm, sticky blood. I can't believe there was a time I found this to my disgust; this… pure power.

My knife hangs loosely in my hand, the smooth sharpened edge smeared with rapidly cooling blood, a cold shiver racks my spine as I realise I can't enjoy this moment. Not really, Too much to do, too much to run from. Shame, two kills in one night, that's something to be fucking proud of, as my brother would put it; Well I think Debs would say the same thing but not in the same circumstance.

Oh, I forgot about Deb.

She's Lundy's bitch now but I have never wanted to kill her, Brian will attest to that, I'm still not sure that if it come to it I could do it. And well I'm fucked anyways, but Lundy.

He. Will. Die.

The steering wheel slips under my hands a few times now but I get to the house without anymore homicides, and well since the neighbourhood is pretty much abandoned now I find no qualms in getting out of the minivan covered in the various blood fluids I have collected tonight. I wipe the semi dried blood on the black cargo's and open the peeling white door, Left ajar, but that's not particularly concerning, what Is though is what I see across the second room I enter.

In addition to a rather dusty rickety old table and a manila envelope which I assume contains my various new papers, one Brian Moser has also found his way into the old pine chair lounging at the end of the table.

Rages leaving me, my knees weaken and I stop dead a meter from my elder.

"Brian … Biney?" I stumble over my words, my tongue loose, uncontrollable as I reach for his guiding hand. My golden vermillion flesh almost melts with the milky ashen of my brother, our fingers links like lock and key, his power draws me in as he clutches me in an embrace. Speechless and in awe I try to mumble but nothing intelligible flows from my stuporious mouth.

"But... you're in prison."

He pulls back and smirks, a mirror of my own,

"It wasn't that hard, not really, I was low security, so when I complained of stomach pains one of the nicer guards opened my cell to come in and check on me, and well long story short I strangled him with my shoe lace, put on the uniform and waited until his shift ended. I pretty much walked away. "

Oh my god.

"I'm leaving… they know it's me. I just came back for me Fake I.D but…" I seize his arms again, his sinewy flesh tight under my artfully powerful fingers. I can't get enough of this touch, the vibration of our connection zinging across my flesh again.

"You're covered in blood brother" He is nonchalant, as if he just pointed out a speck of dust on the decrepit table at our side.

"I know. "

Biney's face stretches into a wide smile; it's as real as he can muster.

"Whose is it?" he asks with slight trepidation. He wants to see what's changed.

"A cop," I reply, it's evasive and true. Besides, this is personal and well, I don't know his name.

"That Doakes guy? You got him?"

I smirk back, "yeah, him too."

It takes a few seconds to click but it does, his face tells me everything

I've made him proud.

Our breath feels like the only movement emanating in the hollow shelled room as we stare at each other.

We turn to break the stalemate and movement begins with a flourish, Brian starts to sort through a bag I never knew he had and I start my journey to the blood stained van parked on the far side of the road, stripping whilst slamming the door wide open. Quickly, I drag the bag of spare clothes from the back and chuck in my spoiled shirt thanking every deity that I had the foresight to bring two spare shirts tonight, Brian won't get anywhere in the guard's uniform, the pants he can keep but…

A scream from the house.

Breath rips from me as my legs ache to reach the house, my brother's security the only thought raging through my pulsating mind. I shred though house, the old decrepit door hanging now on one elderly, tarnished brass hinge. The last door that bars me entry is the one to our old room, but that door isn't much resistance either.

"HEL..."

"Shut it bitch."

It's her.

The lovely Lila.

And what a beautiful sight she is.

Brian has her, my bloodied strip of stainless steel resting sedately on her lily white neck; I can feel my pupils dilate as lust storms my veins yet again tonight, the haze of finely tuned sanity leaving my psyche, and the dark and very satisfied passenger dripping with the reminisce of its former chains and oozing into the utter control.

My body, slick with blood and sweat, eases its way towards the frail woman. My hand, so contrasting, so dark compared to her fine skin, gently brushes a few dark hairs away from her tearing brown eyes, the sweet thing, her dewy flesh so soft under my rough thumb.

"Dex, what are you doing?" her voice quivers in fear

"You know, I'm more like my brother than I let on really, because well, remember Jimenez? How I cried and said it was an accident, I got into a drug induced fight...? Well sweetie, I battered him one, shoved him into the boot of my shitty old car and sliced his jugular on the side of the Florida 90. You didn't think all that blood was from a bludgeoning did you?" I laugh as she begins to cower back into Brian, which is rather amusing as he is still the one with the knife. Well… I flick the switch blade in my hand out. Maybe not just him.

He throws her towards me; I catch her and force her close. She turns her head away but I thrust her face up to meet my gaze, I tilt my head and coo at her comfortingly, "so… is there a reason you are here? Because to be honest darling you're not really welcome." Petting her hair I look behind her, Biney looks fascinated. The yellowing walls and peeling wallpaper give old dead carnival nous to the bizarre situation.

She whimpers, pathetic. Yanking her hair down I growl, my hair comes away with a fair chunk of hair as her whimpers become sobs, "oh darling… I'm sorry." I whisper in her ear, we both know I don't mean it.

"I…I…I thought… you were…kid…napped, I was looking…for you."

It clicks.

Kidnapped.

The phone, the messages,

They thought I was kidnapped,

"…mess and I just… thought someone… called police. I'm sorry"

My eyes snap to the snivelling mess I now hold by the neck.

My breathing deepens as I struggle for control, the bitch!

I throw her to the filthy carpet, and pin her to the floor with a solid thrust of my knife through the sinewy flesh of her wrist. She cries out but I'm beyond caring.

I lift my eyes from her agony, and lock on to the rust staring blankly at me.

"She ruined me." his response is an understanding nod, but I see the desperation almost brimming over in his darkened, dilated eyes. So I'm a good brother.

And let him have her.

I back away and spit at her feet, I'm far beyond caring about forensic evidence, since I've pretty much dunked myself in it. A swish of my hand and she's done.

It's a beautiful act, to see the arch of the knife as it descends, But then, Brian has always been more… eclectic in his tastes, I can see he wants to ravage her, to violate her, like what they did to mommy, but we're too short on time we shouldn't even be doing this now, we should be half way to Cuba, to new lives. But then, there is always time for family bonding. He coos at her like I did, except more mockingly so as we all know she's going to die. Brian though is the more sadistic of us, and it really is quite elegant to see the expert knife strokes begin to skim the main arteries and veins, a start to the real blood let. Somehow, in the entire one minute that he's had her on the ground he has gotten her naked and has begun moving lower, the crumbling blood on the steel flaking into the wounds just created. He circumnavigates the apex of her legs and begins to trail down the perfect marble of her inner thigh; she begins to squirm more vigorously as Brian reaches the underside of her foot so being considerate I stomp her knee down with my boot, I feel something snap as she screams, glorious delightful screams which be both delight in. But it's late, and time is of the essence, I tap of my watch and he sighs, resignedly ramming the knife through the base of the foot. Another scream, but that stops when I kick her head. Brian checks her pulse then stabs her square in the chest, a wonderful bloom of the thick crimson fluid rises and drains in rivulets down her concave stomach.

Funny now I look at it, the red blood staining the carpet its original colour. Brian looks rather dizzy with the euphoria so I decide to get the bags from the dining table where they were so unceremoniously dropped by yours truly. But I stop at the door, it doesn't feel right, fleetingly I think maybe it's because I have still yet to pull on another shirt but the sound of a creak from the kitchen runs me back to our room where Brian has begun to drag himself up from bloody floor.

"There's someone here" I whisper.

Brian looks wide eyed for several moments "I thought you said this place wasn't under police watch anymore!" His whisper is as desperate as mine. Slowly I reach down and tug the forgotten blade from the corpse of dear departed Lila and follow Brian to the corridor, separating I sneak the back way into the kitchen, from my vantage point I see two figures drafted in black, one man and one woman from their size I guess, The man is within striking distance, I'm surprised he can't feel the energy revolve around me like sparks, I line up to find to the woman in confrontation with Biney, but that voice…

Deb.

Which means that the man currently moving behind her must be him Lundy, I slide across the floor silently, my booted feet behaving wonderfully as a come within a meter again, This time I do the obvious thing, a good tap on the shoulder and a deep slice through the jugular. The blood spurts at me again as Deb, hearing Lundy in death throes turns around and flicks the dingy light switch on and the end is illuminated. I must look like death, shirtless covered in the blood of four people, not that she could tell, and with an utterly maniacal grin distorting and melding my features into their true selves.

Her face is priceless; she starts with horror but goes through the seven stages of grief in a short thirty seconds, she finally settles on despair as a feel a presence at my right.

"Hey Deb!" my voice is the jovial tone it usually is but the illusion is shattered, she can tell its fake, It's rather obvious really but desperate people always hold onto hope.

She gapes at me, her face again screwing into one of agony; well I did just kill her boyfriend.

"He was a bit of a douche Deb, I mean come on, camera's?" I know I'm being cruel but I've made my decision, I belong with blood, literally and figuratively, she can't give me that. Biney can. Her desperate sobs sober as the gun in her hand quakes under the multiply shivers reaming through her body. Her lips move but all I can hear are spluttered hitches of breath, But Brian hears.

"Why? Is that a serious question? He would have never chosen you, you filthy whore!"

I swing around to look at him, his eyes flaming of pure hatred and jealousy. He really is a good actor.

"He's like me, and if you hadn't already figured out… far worse. Those what 38? People, bin bags full of various parts? You've seen the link, worked it out ages ago but have done all you could to deny. It's so hard though, because deep down you know, have always known,' your' brother isn't right. Everything so orchestrated, the mini slips during his teens, and well… harry?" Deb sobs again. "Harry he never paid attention to you did he. And those trips? Well Dexy came back so calm, so… normal. You didn't question them. Hunting was so fun back wasn't it Dexter?" I grunt in affirmation "It's just had a… upgrade."

In for the kill.

"People are just so. Much. More. Fun."

She screams the most earth, shattering, gut wrenching, and honestly suicidal scream ever imaginable and falls to her knees in the pool of her lover's blood. My brother's smirk is wide; he is enjoying destroying my sister, rotting her from the inside out. I can't find sadistic humour in the death of the light and hope in her eyes, the attachment between us has dwindled yet the bloody torn string that links us is still there. So I stand back and watch as Brian cuts her down, scarring, maiming her without end.

"… piece of shit lover, tell me? Was he better than me? Did he lick you out? Take good care as he fucked you all sweet night long? Did he coo you into bed and tell you he loved you? Just like I did?"

A final scream of agony

My mouth acts before my mind,

"NO!"

The block of lead hits him dead centre on the forehead, crimson blood seeps from the hole but he's gone. My brother, my kin, dead. Brain matter shatters out the back of his skull as it flies into my bare chest. I collapse, anguish takes over me, I cry out, and at last the last thread of sanity snaps as I'm left shaking with fury and desolation on the bloody tile.

I move swiftly, burying my blade deep into my sister's taunt stomach, she staggers back, the shock and pain evident on her twisted face, so it take her a few moments to shoot me in return.

I don't feel the pain, I only laugh as I feel the blood pumping out of my heart onto the black and white tile, soiling it with yet more fluid. With one last look at my sister I finally feel peace, The last sound the ebbs away is the sound of sweet sirens coming ever closer, I guess they found the camera footage after all...


End file.
